Thought I'd have a quick peek at Blogger to see if it had decided to behave in my absence. It most certainly had not. But as I'd planned to do lots of writing today, I wondered if a quick flick thro' a couple of old posts might just spur me on. Either to make me think 'it's ok I CAN do this' (unlikely) or to be so shamed by my drivel that I'd resolve to improve, and set about doing so (a virtuous ambition don't you agree?) So I just tapped on a couple of random ex-splats. Noticed some typos. Ignored them. Next splat - the urge to correct over-took me so I hit the Edit button. Fool. Removed the offending error. Fool. Was faced with Save Draft or Publish. Hit Publish. That's what I used to do wernnit?? FOOL. Suddenly I was back on the battleground of Signing In. My password has lost it's power. My choices are displayed in a muted 'you can look but you can't touch' tease. I press everything in the end but nothing works except 'Cancel'. My corrected old post disappears. Now it wasn't a great work, but it's a link in a chain that has become more precious with age. It's the rarity value. My bloggy offerings are but a paltry tinkle of coppers due to a broken heart - Blogger dumped me and I never got over it - (oh it lets me spew still but not defend myself afterwards - comments still denied) - so I recoiled and took myself out of the market. But like a soppy black&white heroine I pulled my old love letters out from under the bed to torture myself - and dropped one down the floorboards....
Oh the anguish! I have no idea why I felt so bereft, especially as I had just read it and knew it was wholly inconsequential, but it's the principle goldarnit! And gods knows I have so few of those left. I've just been electronically erased. Outraged by technology again. Feel thick now.
Can't even remember what it was called....
I give up fighting against the fight. Go back to the front line hands raised clutching a tattered white hankie and look! There the bastard is. Re-published as if it's a new bloody idea.
I hate this 'I Know Best' digital nazism. I can't even retain my own thoughts in the order I thought them. I might just stop thinking altogether. That'll fix Them.
Anyway - just ignore. Did you know that on the Self-Service tills in B&Q there is an Ignore button that the staff can press when the posh voice goes AWOL? I want an Ignore button installed in my head. When the shit starts to waft my way - click. Ignore.
It's the only sensible path. Self-improvement has shown itself to be a worthless ambition after all. In trying to polish-up my previous incarnation, I merely highlighted my lacking. So I'm backing away into the dark bushes once more to watch the pretty lights from my lowly hovel. Pretend you never saw me.