Dead and gone for a week, my beloved computer is restored and I am joyful. After being adrift, scanning for friends' and library computers just to manage pet schedules over the holiday madness, to type on my own machine in my own home feels delicious.
Here's what I (re)learned after a week of not writing (and scooping too much kitty litter): writing keeps me sane. Even if it's just emails to friends, random chatter here and there, I need to have that flow of written words to keep equilibrium. Otherwise, the gears grind, and I circle over the same ground over and over, conclusions unreachable.
In theory, I could do as I used to do and write it all down in a notebook. I still carry a tiny notebook with me everywhere, although largely, it only contains the list of dogs I need to walk that day. But I have a shelf full of old journals - some hysterical and painful reading, depending on the era and my mood reading. I've switched over to digital land though. I can no longer read my own handwriting half of the time. Typing is an extension of my thought, a tactile experience where I only vaguely remember the process it takes to create the words. It's not unlike playing the piano, excepting it's all improvisation here at this keyboard.
It sucks to lose your computer. I thought I knew how important my machine was to me until the hard drive went down, at which point it sadly became apparent the extent that my life revolves around access to my computer. It also taught me the harsh lesson of being diligent about backing up my hard drive. Oops! Hope you didn't lose too much into. Happy Writing!
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