I killed my laptop. It was an accident, more computerslaughter than murder. But nonetheless, the thing is as dead as if I'd shot it. Luckily, Charlotte Street Computers (all hail the mighty CSC!) resuscitated my hard drive and transplanted it into a new, more compact, body. I am eternally grateful for their expertise, really I am. But still, I'm having to go through a usb cord to get to all my files, using my work computer--a desk top that resides 20 minutes away from my home. (#firstworldproblems) Also, I'm loading all the files up to Google Drive so I can access them elsewhere and it's all going to be fine. I have other technology and I'll just use those to write until I decide what to do about a new laptop.
So this is truly NOT a tragedy. It IS doggone inconvenient though.
As a result of my mounting frustration, I'm reminding myself of what a tragedy is.
Nope, this situation here is an inconvenience: a frustrating, annoying, time-sucking one. But I will not promote this to tragic proportions. I will not allow this to be devastating, because for heaven's sake it is a thing not a child. I can be annoyed, but not overwhelmed; irritated, but not destroyed.
Now. As I wait for my files to load to Google Drive, I'll keep re-reading this until I get the message.