I can't feel my feet, that's a bad sign, right? And the room is spinning. I'm a little sick to my stomach and no matter how hard I try to tell myself that I'm going to be okay, my mind refuses to believe what must surely be a lie. I am not okay.
There are substitutions available but it seems to make it worse--reminding me how good it once was. The replacement's very incompleteness triggers my anxiety until I fear that I've made a grave, grave mistake. Is imperfection worthy of separation? Am I selfish and arrogant to believe I deserve the best? Why am I so hard to please? So demanding? Is nothing better than almost perfect?
These thoughts have spun around my cortex for the last two days, but I have told myself that I only had to hold out until Friday, then my fears would be laid to rest and this parting would seem a distant, albeit, painful memory. Alas, there is a delay in our reunion and seeing as how it is Friday, that delay will stretch for the rest of today...all day tomorrow...throughout all of Sunday (which, truly seems sacrilegious) and until Monday when I receive the triumphant call that all is well. Only then will I be at peace, comforted by my vice without whom I am simply not myself.
Oh Monday, sweet Monday, I long for the comfort you will bring.
In the meantime, what advice do you have for me? How do you cope when your computer's in the shop?