Really, it's just my computer, but it felt like family. It was the computer I have been attached to for the past three years. The one that allowed me to keep my sanity when I was on bed rest. The one that indulged my neuroses by obediently looking up all of the illnesses I might have (but don't), as well as seemingly endless bits of random information.
But last night, it had had enough and skirled its last. And with that last wail went three active writing projects, including two short stories, almost complete, and the outline, notes, resources and first thirty two pages of the book I was writing. Am writing. Thanks to my sister, Sarah, and my friend, Jessica, I was able to recover two early versions of the outline, so I will begin again.
I refuse to take it as a cosmic hint. How very unlike me!