When Windows crashes, every previous moment of your life suddenly seems less important than what you'll do in the next one. My first instinct was to cry. Second, to find that bottle of Vicodin my mom had after her surgery two years ago. I know it's around here somewhere.
Right now I'm trying to "reboot" everything and not lose 70,000 words of the world's greatest wit-lit novel, plus two years' worth of theater reviews and about 50 freelance projects and teaching notes.
The abyss opens up and tries to swallow you. But friends who know computer things reel you back from the edge.
Back soon with updates. And for those of you starting classes in Dallas in 106-degree heat, please stay hydrated and save a few of the close-in parking spaces for old coot professors.
Back-up, back-up, back-up. I know.