So, my hard drive crashed Saturday night, despite the efforts of my techie friend and my 85 year old repairman and I working on removing a stuck disk. I then spent about six hours total at the nearest Apple store, pleading for the fastest data transfer they can manage so I can meet my deadlines, and spending $ I don't have. Naturally, this was the ideal time for a fight with my brother and Ms. High Horse (SIL), so of course, we had one. Best line (spoken by brother): "I'm pulling into the grocery store parking lot. I can't talk to you anymore." Because you know, hey, parking lots have feelings too, and don't like to be ignored.


I felt so bad I went to my godmother, unnanounced, after a decade's silence. She came right through for me, even as she held me and I cried and hiccupped and commented on how odd it feels to have four breasts pressed together in a hug.(Thank you, B. I love you.)

Anyway, now I have a working machine (but why no spellcheck on, they treated me like a Queen at Apple (almost without exception), and the guys that helped me were suuuuuuuuuper cute. Cougar cute. Meow.

But I bought a pack of smokes. I caved.