centre of the universe - the dreaming

Two folks have now informed me that they receive notice when I update this bournal, but that they cannot see the posts. I know that at least two folks can see the posts, and the bournal in its full glory.

I have a crackpot theory.

My crackpot theory is that folks in Saskatoon cannot see the bournal because there is a kind of cosmic interference between the bournal's pure awesome and The King's pure awesome. The King, you see, lives in Saskatoon. And is convinced he is made of pure awesome. Which he very well may be. However, I *do* know that the bournal is made of pure awesome, because I made it. And I made it out of pure awesome.

So. If you can see the Bournal and the updates, please post an "AHOY!" in the comments. If you cannot see the Bournal and the updates, tear off all your clothing and run around in the street screaming "It's so UNFAIR!" and throw in a couple of rousing choruses of "THE BELLS!!! THE BELLS!!!" while you're at it. If you can see the bournal but choose not to read it, you're being a poop.

Labels: porblems

Apologies for that.
There were...aahhh...problems. With my server. The issue is being rectified. With my finding a new host.

Anyhow, I've made a number of attempts at posting things this weekend. One per day, in fact. Saturday was my telling of the very cool dream I had that involved the radio station, the radio station's general manager, a computer system that went FUBAR, and the mayor of Regina. And a very witty post it was, but since I have now had to enter it no fewer than three times, and the file in which I wrote it appears to have gone AWOL, that's all you get.

Sunday, I was attempting to bitch about the situation with my bournal being unupdatable. I was attempting to do that manually. No dice. Also, The Captain's hockey game, or, In Which The Captain's Team Smears The Other Team.

Monday, I was going to tell you the story of the visit I'd had from my mother, the destruction and rage it caused, and why that was important. Also, the woman who went to the warehouse-under-construction to get a story for her paper, and who met another woman there, who was working, and how they ended up being lovers. And the fact that it was a dream-story in the style of Saskatchewan author Bonnie Dunlop, whose work I love.

Yesterday was Remembrance Day, and I was going to tell you a story about my granddad.

And now, it's past midnight, and so is technically Wednesday, and I have nothing to tell you but that the bournal has been down but now, she is fix-ed.

Sorry for the confustication.

Labels: porblems