January 14th, 2002

2020 lack of vision

.... the aftermath

Oh, it continues.

This morning I get in to discover that hooray! My site is actually up and functioning as advertised. I shoot straight in to do my crucial updating and start merrily FTP-ing up my modified pages. Second directory I notice an unfamiliar file, one that's way too big ... its extension is .eml, which rings a vague bell. My blood runs just a little bit cold. I hover briefly over the disconnect button, briefly over the unfamiliar file, and then just finish my update (just five files) disconnect in short order and feed ".eml file extension" into google.

Oh buggering bollocks.

I do a quick run over the systems I buy from XXXXDELETEDXXXX and I'm not especially surprised when I discover that their mailserver isn't working, I'm not getting the automatic receipt email back from their service email, and that there's a fifteen-ring wait on their helpline. They've presumably had a full weekend of attempting to get NIMDA (or something similar) out of their IIS servers while getting all their hosted websites back online immediately.

However, I'm not impressed that it still isn't sorted out, particularly as they were always so ready to boast about how solid they were against virus attack. I'd quote, but it looks like that page has been pulled from the website :)

And, despite my firewall, my anti-virus software, whatever they're doing to curb proliferation, and the fact that the footprint on my site looks like the one left by an unsuccessful server infection (according to my google-informed guesswork) there is no way I am logging on to FTP to my site again until those unfamiliar files are gone.

And now I have to figure out what to tell my manager. Nothing, till I've heard from someone who knows something at XXXXDELETEDXXXX, I suppose. So far I've only spoken to a service mouth. She said, "Yes, we've had problems. They're sorted now. But we're still dealing with the aftermath."

2020 lack of vision

free association averts reality

(written at lunchtime -- afternoon destroyed by head, read, work, head, read, work)

Red, green, blue, grey. Bright colours, and the sense of one side of my perceptual field cringeing, puckering up like a mouthful of rotten oranges. It's the headache again, fluttering around my head like a tattered grey shadow. Last week, it was coming. Orange light bubbling in my nose, a sound like a crystal footstep breaking plastic grass. I drank some gin, put it off. Last night, I looked up, and the red curtains of the cinema were crawling. I choked down a pill, put it off. And here I am, stomach caught in a twist of nausea, watching the surge and ebb of the coffee queue, wanting coffee and knowing I shouldn't and doing nothing but waiting and looking, waiting and looking, and what should I do? Should I take another pill, re-wrap my mind in a serotonin comforter? Why am I even asking the question? Of course I should. It's a medical problem with a medical solution.

If it weren't for the monkey-voice jabbing my mind with a wizened finger, saying to me, no, this is a headache with a name .

A name, a history, and a reason for being and for being here and now. It's a headache with a story, and the story begins: when I was a child I found a dead snake lying in the grass ...