This Google Drive AI scraping bullshit actually makes me want to cry. My entire life is packed into Google Drive. All of my writing over the years, all of my academic documents, everything.
I’m just so overwhelmed with all the shit I’m going to have to move. I’m lucky to have Scrivener, but online data storage has been super important as I’ve had so many shitty computers, and the only reason I haven’t lost work is because Google Drive has been my backup storage unit.
My partner has recommended gitlab to move my files to - it seems useful, and I can try and explain more about what it is and how it works when I get more familiar with it. I’m unsure if it’s a text editor, or can work that way. He was explaining something about the version history that I don’t quite understand right now but might later. I’m just super overwhelmed and frustrated that this is the dystopia we live in right now.
I’m so sad to see so many panicked posts about google docs when the original inflammatory post has been debunked and retracted.
Google is ONLY talking about publicly available data. Stuff that is in your drive DOES NOT COUNT as publicly available.
There are SO MANY companies that use drive and docs for proprietary information who would have MANY lawsuits to bring if it was discovered private drives were being scraped.
Now, I’m not saying NOT to swap writing programs because google docs is pretty pants as an actual word processor, and also, never ever have all your stuff only in one place, but I don’t want anyone to freak out that their writing isn’t safe.
A part of being an adult is living with regret and not allowing it to consume you. The older you get, the more mistakes you’ve made, opportunities you’ve missed, people you’ve disappointed. And every day you have to remind yourself to be kind and forgiving of yourself. You accept and love the you from the past and understand that it’s all a part of the process. Then you move on and live your best life, knowing now as old as you feel today, you’ll never be this young again.
I sat with a crying second grader today. (The age range is outside my wheelhouse but I was the most convenient adult.) He was crying, the other adults said, because his brother took a phone he was playing on. “Phone addicted,” everybody said. “If he would get up and play games with the other kids he wouldn’t be crying.”
He told me everyone lets his brother take things from him because his brother is younger, and doesn’t know better. He told me he doesn’t want to play because he’s tired, he has too many extracurriculars this summer and can’t get good sleep because “everyone in my camper is so loud when I’m trying to sleep.” He’s exhausted and only eight. His mom’s an acquaintance and told me she and the kid’s father are going through a separation — mom and four kids left the house to stay in a camper.
But people will seriously not listen to kids crying over seemingly minor things because on the surface it looks like a tantrum. If kids are given the space to articulate themselves they often will.
My boyfriend was on the phone with his dad yesterday so I went out to sit on the patio to pet the geese and play on my phone for a bit, and while out there I came across a comic of baby Grimace (yes, that Grimace) being sad because everyone hated his milkshake and saying he wished he never had a birthday. Then there was a follow up where tons of people had commented saying they loved the shake and wished Grimace a happy birthday, and that made him happy again.
This, for whatever reason, emotionally devastated me. I was sobbing. I was ugly crying so bad that even the geese waddled away side-eyeing me.
After a while my bf yelled from inside, “Okay, you ready for dinner?” and I was forced to accept I had to go back in the house a defeated sniffly little wreck.
My boyfriend, who has only ever seen me cry once in the whole year we’ve been together, looked horrorstruck. He assumed the worst. Someone got hurt. Something was wrong with my family. Someone was mean to me (a cardinal sin). The panic that washed over his face was unparalleled.
He, upon seeing me, (somewhat theatrically) rushed over and grabbed me by the shoulders. “What’s wrong, what happened? Are you okay?” he asked, frantic. “What is it?”
I realized how ridiculous the whole situation was and just shook my head.
He was growing more panicked. “What is it? Why are you crying?”
I then had to stand there and look him, this completely normal human being, in the eyes, and blurt out “Grimace”
Confused silence followed.
“….Grimace?”
I nodded.
“…The McDonalds guy…thing?”
I nodded.
“What…what did…Grimace…do to you?”
I then tearfully recounted the silly internet comic that had absolutely broken my heart. And this poor guy–this poor, wonderfully sweet, nice, patient guy–kindly stood there trying to figure out how to comfort me that Grimace was not, in fact, sad. (Nevermind that he’s a corporate mascot who isn’t real)
This morning my phone rang just after 5am. It was my boyfriend. It was my turn to panic, to assume the worst.
I didn’t even have time to say hello before he started excitedly yelling, “Look at the TikTok I just sent you! Look! Open it!”
Confused and not entirely convinced I wasn’t still asleep, I opened the TikTok.
An official release from McDonalds confirming Grimace (who still isn’t real) did, in fact, feel special on his birthday.
also while we were in the car headed to dinner I remembered the little panel of Grimace crying and I got all teary eyed again, and my boyfriend looked over and, with all the genuine care, compassion, and sympathy this guy could muster, legitimately asked, “Are you having Grimace thoughts again?” which I don’t think I’ll ever let myself live down
