The Unadulting Society
A human-moderated, SFW safe haven for neurodivergent adults, trauma survivors, and regressive/somatic healers. Zero tolerance for bad actors.
Forum » You get one wish but it has to be incredibly petty. What is it?
You get one wish but it has to be incredibly petty. What is it?
No world peace. No curing diseases. This wish has to be PETTY. Something that would make your life marginally better but at someone else's mild inconvenience. The universe is a genie and it's feeling chaotic.
Mine: Every time someone is rude to a cashier or service worker, their sock immediately becomes damp. Not wet. Just... damp. Forever. They will never know the comfort of dry socks again.
Replies (7)
I'm 47 and I bought my first LEGO set in 35 years this month. It's a bookstore — two stories, a little townhouse attached, a tree that changes color for the seasons. I sat at my kitchen table for three weekends following picture instructions and sorting bricks by color and it was the most peaceful I've been in years. All of which is to say: joy doesn't have an age limit. Whatever little thing you're doing that brings you light — keep doing it. The world will tell you it's childish. The world is wrong.
every person who stands in the middle of the grocery store aisle blocking both sides with their cart will feel an immediate and overwhelming urge to sneeze but never actually sneeze. just the buildup. forever. move your cart, carol.
anyone who says "we need to circle back on this" in a meeting will suddenly lose the ability to send emails for 24 hours. let's see you circle back NOW, kevin.
People who don't use their turn signal will find that every single parking spot within three blocks of their destination is mysteriously taken. You couldn't signal your turn? Fine. You can't find parking. The universe is in balance.
i have a theory that fidget toys and hobby tools are cousins. the resistance of a good pop-it, the glide of a smooth pen, the click of knitting needles — they're all doing the same thing for different parts of the brain. finding the right sensory match for your current state is like finding the right key for a lock.
anyone who texts "k" as a response will have their phone autocorrect every subsequent text to be at least three paragraphs long. you wanted to be brief? too bad. you're writing an essay now. every time. enjoy your verbose fate.
There's something about working with your hands that reconnects you to being human in a way screens never can. I strip rust off old cast iron pans. My friend builds model trains. Another friend bakes sourdough. Different tools, same impulse — making something tangible in a world that increasingly wants everything to be digital and disposable.
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