You see, I got my invitation to partake in the Beta version this week, and I was thoroughly excited.
Except that high traffic meant that Pottermore wouldn't load... All day... and then all night. I got in in drips and drabs, even managed to get sorted... shortly before midnight (Gryffindor, if you must know).
The Beta version was opened to a few to test out and suggest improvements. Here's a suggestion:
Get a server that can handle it.
No, seriously. I mean, we're just the test group and we can't get on and enjoy a smooth, frustration free experience. What the hell's going to happen when the whole world jumps on the site?
Seriously. I don't think this was thought through at all.
And that's my griping for the day.
Yesterday was a weird day all around. By the time 3pm rolled around, I was so exhausted I could barely move. I went straight home - no training. Yes, I was that tired. I ordered pizza because I was too exhausted to cook. I ate almost the whole thing before I felt satisfied... and then I got my energy back.
I ate well that day (pizza aside), so I shouldn't have been the food. The air in the office is bloody terrible, so I can totally see it being that.
But then, why the boost after the pizza? Is it because the pizza is full of fat and sugar? I don't understand.
Oh well, there goes my weight loss goal at any rate. I'm definitely going to training tonight to make up for all that terrible, terrible, but so yummy, food.
Oh, writing. Right. That's what this blog is supposed to be about. So, in between trying to get onto Pottermore and trying hard not to fall asleep, I worked a little bit on Ethan Cadfael: The Battle Prince. I figured another basic edit would be in order. It's a good thing too. There were still a mountain of typos, and I only got to chapter 3!
I suppose I ought to go through a bit more today.
The leavings of [saloon] glasses, poured together and sold cheap.
- Mitford Mathew's Dictionary of Americanisms, 1956
A slang term designating the drippings of glasses in saloons, collected and sold at half-price to drinkers who are not overly particular.
- Sylva Clapin's Dictionary of Americanisms, 1902
... or hygienic, apparently...