Today, I wrote you a post on tanking techniques.
On styles. Indeed, on the very philosophy behind what makes for a good group and solid tanking.
I included simple things you could do to tweak your own performance to make your groups far better from the tanking side of the game, and some simple reminders for DPS players when joining an unknown tank on how to have a great run.
I talked about communication, and teamwork, and the two main styles of tanking group pulls in detail.
I wrote the “Ultimate Tanking Manifeasto”™, a veritable smorgasbord of words that you could devour whole and yet remain feeling hungry… hungry for more tanking goodness.
This was my War and Peace, my Ender’s Game. My Raggedy Ann and Andy.
I rewrote the project a dozen times over, slaving away, adjusting whole sentences here, striking poorly phrased paragraphs there, crafting the perfect document of tanking deliciousness.
Sadly, you’ll never get to see these words that I describe.
For as I sat back and felt the warm, pleasant glow of having completed the perfect post, I pressed the “Publish” button, and watched as all of my work vanished. Vanished without a trace into the random dashes and dots that make up the modern digital sewer we call the computer.
There, in it’s simplistic maliciousness, like a malign demon of half-assed evil, was displayed before me the WordPress login screen.
I entered in my name and password, and re-entered my domain, there to find that while IN THE FIRST FIVE MINUTES OF WRITING my sublime article of exuberance, WordPress had logged me out. Or lost my cookie. Or decided I wasn’t really there.
But instead of actually SAYING so, instead of informing me with perhaps a popup or warning, it simply chose to stop backing up my draft automatically, but let me type uninterrupted in perfect ignorance for the next three hours.
Three hours worth of blood, sweat and sky that disappeared in the press of a single, simple button.
Gone before, gone forever, gone ahead into digital oblivion.
Those are words that can never return. Not in the way they were. Not in the form as I imagined them.
No matter what we poor souls may desire, nothing we do can ever capture that perfect magic again. The magificent perfection that was the ultimate tanking manifeasto.
Perhaps in some library of the lost, at the outer boundary between what never was, what is and what might have been it yet resides, saved to a CD-ROM that shines with a golden glow.
It’s really too bad.
It was great. You would have loved it.
I feel kinda bad for you, that post would have changed your life forever.
You would have momentarily achieved a state approaching nirvana, approaching and yet unable to be sustained, because the intensity of joy would have just been too much for one soul to withstand.
You get this.
And thus, the circle is now complete, and the malicious evil that was visited upon me, I have passed on to you.