Today, for instance – while resetting permissions on a website I’m helping redesign, I accidentally killed the entire page. Killed it dead, in that when you typed in the url all you saw was a big, blank, white page and the words, “FATAL ERROR” in all capital letters. 

“FATAL ERROR,” the webpage said. Fatal? Really? Could the powers-that-be not come up with something less…deathy? Less, “Dear Lateshoes, You are now totally fired.” -ish? 

After a few very intense moments of utter panic and denial I found a way to fix the problem. Which, basically means, I had to call for help, though “scream” for help would more accurately describe it. 

It’s all better now, but I still have the shakes and that unsettled feeling you get after narrowly escaping a horrible car accident. 

On the upside, the person who used to administrate this website (the one I didn’t kill…who told you that?) used it to store all of their Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan-fic and it’s pure gold. 

“What can I do for you?” Giles enquired of her, glancing at

the clock to confirm that it was well past school hours – in

fact, it was into the hours which Buffy and her friends usually

spent bunched together dancing to that dreadful apology for

music at the Bronze night spot.  He could be sure that the

girl hadn’t come for a book.

 

Buffy shifted from foot to foot, and Giles tried to read her

mood.  For once, he was looking up rather than down at her

periwinkle eyes, and it was nice to see her without her neck

craned back.  Buffy looked unsettled.  Restless.

 

“I got an itch,” she stated, picking up one of his ornaments,

turning it over in her manicured hands, setting it back

impatiently on its stand.  ”I’ve got this sudden and irrational

urge to go out and kill bad guys.”  She wasn’t smiling

anymore.  She was frightened – her eyes pleading him for

answers to her inner questions.

 

Giles supposed that it must be a worry, waking up to

murderous feelings like that.  And so young: sixteen years

old, and already a trained killer – the Slayer.  The world’s best

weapon against the darkness which threatened to engulf it. And right

now she was feeling pre-menstrual or something and she was

experiencing the instinctive need to hunt and destroy the undead.

 

“That’s good,” he told her with a kindly smile.  Giles thought

that he was getting better at saying what Buffy wanted, or

needed, to hear.  ”Grand.  Let’s go hunting.”