Don’t ask me.
For anyone still following me after the past 24-hour deluge of my old posts, I thank you. A fruit basket is in the mail.
This is what started it all. 👇🏼
👆🏼This will be engraved on my tombstone.
Several days ago it started harassing me, like catcalls when walking past a construction site- pre-me-too and pre-me-old.
I thought I’m f****ing smart! I know some big words! I’m thinky! I can conquer this. I dusted off my decade-old laptop, plugged it in and let it update and power up for six hours. Then last night, when I should have been watching the debate, I was panicking because of my posts…
Writing paused for:
So now I’m typing blind. This bar is in my way.
…last night my posts disappeared— none of my 3k+ posts had content. The titles were still there, nothing else. It all appeared to have been deleted. I took a Xanax and approached the problem calmly, while half-listening to the debate, and by the way, I hate them all right now.
I realized every time I tried anything to restore my work I was publishing old posts as if they were new. That is why you good people who humor me with follows were bombarded with my past posts.
My daughter suggested I make the blog private until I fix it, to spare anyone who still follows me any further harassment. So, I figured out how to do that, and then I was locked out of my account, told there was no blog by that name. I guess private means private; I wasn’t invited to my own party.
I’ve been up most of the night, trying to restore 5.4 years of posts— they’re my babies! (Some I like more than others, but don’t tell them.)
Okay, well I lost about 10-20 of my older posts, and they’re the ones I love most because while I was trying to retrieve them, I was also trying to get fancy by putting them into a menu widget filed by subject matter. I was very diligently erasing my best work.
There is a lesson to be learned with every mistake, and this one was that I have limitations when it comes to technology.
If you can see this, you know I was able to reinstate my blog.
I hate everything, but nothing more than this —>👇🏼, my constant companion.
The tech-nerds at WordPress suggested I delete my blog and start over. 🙄 I pulled out a paper bag and took a few deep breaths. I.AM.OKAY.
I know precisely how my writing associate, Ernesto Hemingway, felt when his transcripts were lost. ”Write drunk, edit sober” may not be my style, but I will write again because I am his very definition of courage: grace under pressure.
”There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” ~EH
Anyway, I’m back, I’m sorry about all the notifications, and thank you for not kicking me to the curb— if you’re still there.
For the love of God.☝️🧐