There's terrorism and then there's *terror*

You suddenly realize just how much of your life is encompassed by your hard-drive when (because it's been making some strange noises and you've taken the side-panel off to take a look) you tug on a wire, see a spark and hear the entire unit just shut right down.

And do nothing at all when you ... with a great deal of trepidation ... gently press the power button.

Strangely, I did not shout and neither did I cry. Readers, I merely muttered, like a mantra, "Oh please, don't die," and pressed the button again. And again. And a third time, all with no result.

I pulled back from beneath my desk and sat straight upon my haunches. I thought and pondered and I mouthed the world, "Oh please, don't die," still strangely, preturnaturally, calm.

Then remembered the main switch at the back and descended — why not? — to switch it off, and then on again.

My beast lit up, powered on and booted (and you know it, because I'm typing this entry now).

"Oh thank god!" I whispered in a breath like a desperate rush of a prayer. And I returned to Raven in the kitchen, laughing, as I told her what had transpired. And laughed some more, when I realized that — now the danger was passed — my heart was beating like a winded rabbit cornered by a pack of hungry hounds.

I think one of the fans is dying (it's certainly making enough noise!), and I'm going to back up everything tomorrow; but for now, I can rest easy know I can return to my labours in the morning. <*knocks wood*>

Time, Deeply

Mirror image department.

A lot of you are probably familiar with the idea of considering the history of the Earth as if 4.6 billion years were one day, or one year.

davegodfrey posted a most evocative variation on that theme. "Breath in. Now breathe out." (And yes, click the link, damn it!

Edited to fix malignant typo.