I tried to get my blog back, but reality defeated me.
Earlier today, I suddenly remembered that I had the password to my FatCow (web host) account in my notes!
D’oh! Problem solved, right?
Nope! Said password did not work. And I have tried to get their “forgot password” system to work at least a half dozen times but the password reset email never shows up.
Which means I will have to resort to the nuclear option : calling their 1-800 number.
Patient readers know that I have a problematic relationship with the phone. My social anxiety makes placing phone calls difficult for me sometimes, and so I will have to build up to making that dang call for a while.
I hate being like this. I deserve so much better than this mishegoss.
Still, I will wrestle back control of my blog soon., although my domain may be lost forever. There is a squatter at michaeljohnbertrand.com right now, though I can’t imagine why anyone would want my incredibly low traffic domain.
The squatter site might just be the default site of whoever I bought my domain from last year, though, and hence once I figure out who they are and pay them, I might get it back.
Meh. Either way, I will survive, even if I have to go to mjbertrand.com or somesuch.
The most important part is not the domain but the actual contents of my blog. I have 12 years of blog entries entrusted to FatCow, and if I lost those, I would be devastated.
So bear with me, FatCow. I will figure this all out soon.
Not that blogging into a LibreOffice document is all that bad. The default font for the program (RobotoArialSansSerif) is a lot easier on the eyes than whatever I’ve been using in WordPress, and I can see my wordcount any time I want because it is always displayed right down there on the lower left of my screen.
In Wordpress, I have to press a button to get it. How crude.
In fact, if it wasn’t for the small fact that absolutely nobody can read what I write when I write this way, I would actually prefer it.
But I must reach my readers. Both of them.
Felicity (love you dear) helpfully suggested that I blog to my ancient Livejournal until I get this mess sorted out.
It could work, assuming that the dang thing is there after all these years. More to the point, there are tons of blog hosting possibilities out there.
In fact, it’s absurd that I pour these words into a privately hosted blog in the first place. Turns out I am avoidant even in my blogging because I instinctively set things up way way back in 2011 in the most isolated and obscure (and expensive) way possible.
Any other way of doing it would have made me part of a blogging community, like Tumblr, and I might have actually attracted an audience there.
Which would be nice.
Ergo, when I get my FatCow back, I will first back the whole dang thing up to my hard driver and then see about migrating it to Tumblr or such.
Time to go play with the other kids now.
More after the break.
One more time
Let’s take another crack at this fear of time thing. I got sidetracked yesterday.
How unlike me.
So why do I feel panic when I note the passage of time? Well, there is only one real deadline approaching me and that’s the big one : death.
I think that, deep down, I know my days are numbered and the number isn’t very high, and so when I notice, say, that “it’s the end of the month already?!?” or somesuch, it makes me feel like I am even closer to the grave than I thought.
Which, tragically, does NOT galvanize me into action and set of a frenzy of activity as I try to pack a lifetime of living into my last remaining days.
I am nowhere near strong enough for that. That kind of thing is for the living. not for us half-dead dreamers wandering in the fog.
Instead it’s merely yet another thing that makes me pull my turtle head deep into my shell and ignore cruel reality all the more.
It’s my number one go to move.
It’s my only move.
This makes looking to my future in any meaningful way impossible. Like I said before, I can dream all the dreamy little dreams of functionality I want as long as they never, ever try to get me to actual do or change anything.
If they do, the deep freeze descends like an overly aggressive fire suppression system and kills that dream while it’s still embryonic.
It’s that god damned sprinkler system that is the real enemy. But I sense that, like the walls of this cold stone fortress of mine, what seems like it confines me really protects me from that big bad world out there.
After all, in order to do things, ya kinda have to go out there. You have to leave the comfortable misery of this sad little life of mine and actually go out into the world where it is bright and loud and complicated and you don’t control anything and so you are vulnerable, so very very vulnerable, to all those bad things out there.
It’s hard to convince one’s deeper self that it is worth it. That there is enough to gain out there to make up for all that chaos and risk. That the world outside the shell can be a happy place where we can not only survive but thrive.
I don’t have a word for whatever is broken in us failure to launch types that makes that so hard for us to believe. But something has gone deeply and drastically wrong with us and it leaves us crippled souls unable to grow up at all.
I got sidetracked again, didn’t I?
Oh well, it will all come out in time.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.