The wonderful thing about first world problems is that they so often have first world remedies. Sadness over the loss of my laptop and everything stored within (Goodbye, book!) can be soothed, if not completely vanquished by the free form consumption of many, many chocolates and by repeatedly singing along mournfully to The Smiths. Because, really, how else could you sing the lyrics “Last night I dreamt/somebody loved meeeeee…?”
Several hundred years ago, when I didn’t live in such indulgent times, I imagine things would have gone much differently. Had I come to the people around me and said, “Prithee, good townsfolk, I am much distressed! For mine manuscript was consumed by fire or possibly locusts.” I imagine ye old townsfolk might have paused from their daily labors of blacksmithing and burning witches to tell me to get the hell over myself, already.
As it was, once the powers that be confirmed that I was basically in the possession of a small, rectangular doorstop, Hubby suggested that I should just go ahead, join the cool kids and get an iPad.
Oh, no. Really, I couldn’t. (insert insincere attempt to seem remotely fiscally responsible in the face of a shiny, new toy here.)
First off, let me says this; those Apple store employees deserve a raise for not smirking at me, well, hardly. I know that I am the worst sort of computer consumer–if there was any sort of license required for owning one, I would be blogging via smoke signals, or possibly carrier pigeon. They want to tell me about storage and programs and bladdity, blah, blah, when really, I only have three concerns:
- Can I write on it?
- Will it fit in my purse?
- Is there a pinterest app available?
Since the answers were yes, yes and YES, I am happily typing away on my own little miracle tablet. It’s ridiculous, really. More computer capacity than powered the first ship to the moon and I mostly use it to play online anagram games. So much for the Just Universe theory. My undeserving nature aside, the good folks at The Apple Store just went ahead and downloaded Dropbox onto the thing, so I will never have to worry about losing something as personally important, or at least time consuming, as a manuscript again.
Ah, yes, the book. When I got home, Little Man called down from his bunk, “Did you get it? Did they save your book?” I, fickle, and besotted with my new purchase, barely registered his question. “Nope. It’s gone, honey.” and was completely caught off guard when he flung himself down and started sobbing.
“Sweetie, what’s wrong? Why are you so upset?”
Little Man took a shuddering breath and wailed, “But you worked SO HARD!”
And just like that, any lingering regret disappeared. Like I said, just between you, me, and the lamp post, I remain unconvinced as to the quality of that draft. But the fact that my youngest son apparently considered the lost tome to be on parr with War and Peace, lord, who could be upset in the face of such regard?
So we had a talk about persistence and how disappointment and ultimate success often walk hand in hand. I kissed him good night and picked up my iPad. I could have started a new draft right then and there, set a really a really great example. But I didn’t. I played anagrams. Because sometimes disappointment walks with success, but sometimes she prefers to spend the evening drinking wine with her best friend, Procrastination.