Your mad admin has once again shuffled around things behind the scenes on the site. Hosting company has been changed, thanks to some much cheaper hosting as well as a pretty good Black Friday deal.
None of this should affect any readers here, not only because Readers here are only of the Mythical kind. If things go wrong, though, it’ll be a right royal row getting any of it fixed.
Moving in the digital world is almost as bad as moving in the physical world.
There’s more than one reason why your mad admin doesn’t permit comments here.
Primarily it’s because I don’t want to police comments for spam, rude comments, death threats, etc.
It’s also, I must admit, because it would be extremely depressing to never ever get any comments. I learned early in life to never throw a party if there’s a chance that no one will show up. Yes, I’m sure that’s very pathetic and something a loser would do, and all those other insulting comments. (See, I don’t need other people to insult me, I can do so myself.)
But there’s even a worse reason than that.
Figures. A couple of days after I post my previous entry wherein I decline to bother putting in SSL to this little site of your mad admin (because I ain’t paying for it), the hosting company gives everyone free SSL.
Well, if it’s free, I might as well use it, right? So you should now be seeing this via secured link after all. If you were seeing it at all. Which you’re not, because all Readers here are purely Mythical.
I suppose I could post controversial topics, and put in some kind of commenting section where people could yell at each other, and thus gain views. I don’t care about views. There are millions of places to yell at each other already all over the internet in all human languages. If you want to yell, go to one of them. I still decline to contribute to the din.
Apparently many browsers have or will start giving their users dire warnings whenever they visit a web page that is not cryptographically secured via SSL (Secure Sockets Layer).
Which means that any Mythical Readers visiting here are going to get all those warnings. Which is rather silly, because said Mythical Readers aren’t interacting with the site. You’re just downloading my navel-gazing posts.
I’m not asking you for your password. I don’t want your credit card number. I don’t even serve ads or crap like that. There’s nothing to encrypt.
But the browser makers think that the only use for a browser is to consume content. Consume consume consume. Mere reading is beyond their comprehension, I suppose. Silly asses, they are.
Still, if anyone wanders across these little posts of mine, you’ve gotten through whatever phalanx of warnings you were given. Congratulations. If only there were something here worth reading.
This is just a post to put up here to prove I’m not dead yet. As the Mythical Readers are indeed mythical, updating anything here seems to be rather pointless. Frankly I have little to say, rather than complaints about the U.S. medical industry, and that living in my relative’s home is starting to have increasing negative aspects (due to the house being very old, not that my relative is negative). Frankly, who the hell cares?
But hey, it’s an update, to keep the bot spiders happy to have something to archive.
Well, that didn’t work.
Taking up from my previous entry: I got the junk removed, the last pieces of things that friends wanted were taken up by them, and I repaired to a local hotel. I discovered that the hotel’s idea of ‘handicapped accessible’ was not what mine was, but I was too tired to bother with trying to get another room, and it’s not the first time I’ve cleansed myself via the bathroom sink.
The following day, I canceled the phone/internet by dropping off their boxes, and dropped off the apartment keys, returning to the same hotel for a desperately needed day and night of pure rest. Then in the morning it was to begin the 1,200 mile journey.
It’s one in the morning.
I’m sitting in a leather chair that I bought years ago. These days it is really too difficult for me to get in and out of, what with my decaying knees. I’m sleeping in it too. Most of my possessions have been carted away, far away, by the movers. The previous few weeks have been spent packing up the things that I formerly found precious. I say ‘formerly’ because in the packing I came to hate most of them. No longer representations of beauty, they because physical burdens, at a time when I am old and burdens weigh cruelly upon me.