“but what if i’m being annoying :(“ everyone’s annoying dipshit it came free with fucking being alive and existing. now go talk to your friends
you’re a living breathing human being on this bitch of an earth and you have wants and needs and take up space and that’s literally fine. if your friends don’t get that you need better friends. there i’ve solved it
Hey folks! Google is fucking you via sneaky enshittification again!
Want the shit in your google drive to load instantly again, instead of taking for-fucking-ever?
Open your gdrive (web OR app) Settings > Manage Apps
Gemini was checked “use as default” (and i sure the fuck didn’t set it that way, this was a silent push)
Nuke that, and suddenly, folders that took up to a minute to populate and sort do so in a fraction of a second.
Do check this out people. I had manually switched all the gemini nonsense off months ago, but when I went and checked just now it was all switched back on.
Rehabbing a feral kitty feels extremely healing. It’s okay, baby, I’m not gonna hit or kick you. I’ll only grab you if you’re in danger. Yes, there’s always safe food and clean water, and you don’t have to hide to eat it. You can always eat til you’re full. The bed is soft and warm, and you can sleep on it as long as you want. I can pet you if you let me, if you want, and it’ll feel really nice, especially once you relax into it. Once you’re not scared something else is going to happen. Isn’t that nice? It’s warm and safe in here, and it’s not a trick, there’s no secret cost. Nothing to be afraid of. It’s okay if you don’t trust me yet, I’ll wait for as long as it takes. I should be so lucky to earn it, patiently, unconditionally. Whenever you’re ready.
What really strikes me is the inability to play. Unable to relax, unable to enjoy herself. Quickly overstimulated, lashing out like she’s in danger, only after a few frantic minutes of fun. Like it’s a limited resource. Like someone’s going to get her for letting go, just a bit, for even a moment. Everything has been life or death for so long, she can only play briefly before she’s scared of what I might do to her or what might happen next. She runs away and hides, bristling and wide-eyed, after a few minutes of gentle play no matter how safe I make things. She can’t help it. She’s been taught to survive this way. When’s the other shoe going to drop?
But she decompresses eventually, creeping back over, suspicious but driven by instinct to play and socialize. Maybe taught that the price for lashing out in panic is too high, that maybe it’s just safer to sit alone out of reach, but so desperate to connect, to relax, to be safe. If she’ll try again, then I will, too, again, and again, and again. As much as she’ll let me, only as fast as she can manage. And sometimes I still overshoot, a little too hard or fast, and I pay with some backsliding. No matter how harmless my gesture, if I scare her, I can’t help that some fragile trust has broken anyway. But I patiently show her it is still safe. That we can learn together what feels okay even if we both mess up sometimes. That it’s okay to want to play, to seek out help or comfort, to ask for more. It’s worth it to keep trying, I’m showing her. It’s worth it, you have to believe me, I promise. Please don’t give up. Let’s try again, okay?
This is about my relationship with myself! Before reparenting was possible, I had to rehab my feral heart. No one could do it for me, even if I deserved that unconditional safety while young. I had to bust my ass, but I taught myself it’s my right to be safe and I have to keep trying! Help from others wasn’t ever going to be sufficient. Only you can give you the type of consistent, gentle safety that will teach you to live with yourself now. It breaks my heart because she is me before I could do that for myself!
You have no choice but to feed boiled chicken breast to the feral cat under the porch in your heart. No one should’ve kicked your heart-cat until it learned to fear footsteps. You never, ever deserved that. But no one else except you can reach it now! Squat motionless in the cold until it learns to warily, angrily, eat in arm’s reach of you. Until it deigns to let you pet it. Until it enters your home of its own volition. Until it can feel safe in your arms. Or else your heart will go hungry beneath the porch without even a warm place to die.
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