Really, the only unfortunate parties here are my data. I mistreated them so. You, see, my hard drive failed. Honestly, it was to be expected. I can’t complain. It served me long and well, since 2002. A 40 gig drive, it was little and fierce, uncomplaining as it held safe all my files, photos to save games. It valiantly called forth the information to render exotic locations for me to explore, from the foyadas of Vvardenfell to the lively desolace of the Capitol Wasteland; from the bustling streets of Tarant to the red rock desert of Durotar. All of these places were just a mouse-click away, thanks to the efforts of my late little C drive, Gamgee. May he rest in peace.
Where does that leave me? With my tales and verse all backed up, I’ve lost only images, music, and my progress in pixelated universes. It’s strange how relieving that word “only” is. Game worlds can be retrod. Pictures, well, new ones can be taken. Music hurts more, but much of it can be re-ripped from my CDs kept safe and pristine. My words, though– those are priceless to me, no matter how bad, rough, or crude. Blocky text and poor grammar can be reworked, but the spark of a particular phrase, once extinguished, is gone forever. In my writing folder are the clumsy typings of a little girl, kept not as a precious memory, but as rich ugly ore from which I still draw, smelting, refining, forging something new. To know that my work, my “real” work, is safe… that gives me a little room to be flippant.
The internet, my old friend, presents a slightly different problem. Without a box from which to access it, I’m stealing net time from gracious friends. For now, I’m in limbo… little as it matters this weekend. I won’t need to be internetting from Necronomicon. You can, however, expect delighted ramblings upon my return.