Launching a web site, even a redesign, is a painful experience for me. It's kind of like cramming for final exams, giving birth, and walking out on stage all at the same time. In the weeks leading up to a launch I become more and more consumed by the site, until by the final week I scarcely resemble a normal human being at all. I dream about the site. I move things a pixel or two. I put in 16 hour days and still wake at 3 a.m. with an idea for an icon that might be more expressive. The launch date nears, and I'm cramming frantically. Because there is always something to fix, something to improve, something I could do better. Then the go-live day dawns, and it is sheer agony. Flipping the switch is so hard. I put it off to make a few more changes and check a few more things, but I know I eventually have to stop and...give up control. As I turn the off-line button to on, it's with a sense of loss. The site is no longer my secret playground. It's live to other people who will hold it and alter it and make it their own. And comment on it. At this point, I usually decide that bed is the best place to be. Partly from exhaustion, but also because I need some distance before the emails start coming in. Every launch it's the same. After the first rash of congratulatory messages comes the inevitable disapproval. Some people just can't help pointing out the mistakes. I try to convince myself they merely want to be helpful. But there is something about the new creations of others—films, books, artwork, web sites—that seems to draw the disgruntled out of the woodwork. That is why it's always best to have another brand new project waiting in the wings. A new site to care for and create and coax into shape. As soon as I get up out of this bed, I'm going to start poking around in it.