So I’m in that place I sometimes go to of frantic worry, except it’s much calmer than usual. I suppose that is progress. You see, the laptop has died. It died sometime yesterday shortly before I had a migraine. Now is it just playing dead? Have I lost all my data? I have no idea. I have taken it to the mac hospital and I am awaiting my appointment.
Now, if I had been backing up faithfully i might not be feeling the pit of anxiety that has taken up residence in my chest.
I need that sucker for work. But that is not where theanxiety comes from.
Reading fic? Nope, that’s not it either. I can do that from my iPod, however much I can’t leave reviews on some of the archives from it. That’s not where the anxiety comes from either.
It’s the stories I’ve written, of course, only a fraction of which are on the web in some form or other. The fact that I find writing by hand a quaint and amusing exercise that is tedious in long stretches.
So, now I shall endeavor to take some deep breaths and relax. Worse comes to worse I replace my laptop and programs, get most of my recent drafts from my betas and coauthors, and as for the rest? Perhaps it is simply good for me to embrace the impemanence of all things, for everything else is an illusion.
Also, I will back up more often. Or really, at all.
Thank you, yes, I do feel better now. On to my reading.