Hi, how is that a capacity issue? Can’t you just give it a different app identifier?

Okay, fair enough with the one flag difference for you.

But just from my understanding of android apps, which is small, isn’t the app id there simply a second line in the manifest? I help with NewPipe a bit, and every app (which is built per PR/pre-release there) gets installed as its own app.

This is incredible helpful to figure out if either a bug you encounter is actually a new issue in the nightly version or if it already exists in the last release. Or if you want to check if an old bug of yours has been fixed properly and you want to verify how you triggerd it in the old version.

Ich hoffe zumindest, dass es genutzt wird :D

Vielleicht kann man da auch ein WriteStreakSpanish aufmachen, wäre natürlich sehr cool viele WriteStreaks wieder zu haben. Ich mag die idee hinter denen total.

I am way out of my league with android dev, though your app looks nice enough for me to consider picking it up and helping out with a couple easy ones.

I just can say that from a tester point of view, having multiple pre release versions next to the release one ready to go is immensely helpful.

Dieses Fediverse wird langsam Eigentum der Bundesrepublik Deutschland? Oder so?

Hey, stimmt, hätte ich euch Bescheid sagen können. Der Gedanke ist mir einfach nicht gekommen, sorry.

Wenn ihr Interesse habt, das koordiniert zu übernehmen, können wir das gerne machen.

Oh ich kenne den Accountname :D

Genau, es richtet sich an Anfänger der deutschen Sprache, kleine texte täglich zu verfassen und Korrekturen zu bekommen für diese

Es gibt einen Text auf Reddit (buuhh ich weiß), den ich dir auf den Weg geben will. Vielleicht hilft er dir.

https://old.reddit.com/r/Assistance/comments/hax0t/my_friend_just_died_i_dont_know_what_to_do/c1u0rx2/

Ich kopiere ihn hier. Von u/GSnow.

Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here’s my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.

Tada