So I thought today was going to be a good day.
Unlike yesterday, Noah didn't wake up at 4 am with a hacking cough and full of righteous indignation at said hacking cough because it interrupted the flow of his screaming.
Unlike yesterday, Noah didn't throw up an entire 8 ounces of formula all over me, my bed, my pillow and Jason's ear at 4:30 am.
Unlike yesterday, I was not doing loads of vomitous laundry at 4:45 am, nor was I at work by 7:45 am, because while I'm okay with tossing a towel over a baby pee-stain on the bed, puddles of regurgitated Similac are something else entirely and FINE, I will get up and just go to work already.
Yesterday was a bad day. I was at work for 10 hours straight, had to speak in front of the entire company and I may have murdered a coworker or two. I barely made the daycare pick-up deadline and Noah's teacher informed me that all the babies had the same cough, and now seemed to be moving on to sharing a case of hand, foot and mouth disease. So you know, watch out for that.
But! Today seemed better! Noah slept until 7 and there was no screaming, just a happy baby chattering away to his hands, who are really good listeners and find Noah to be an excellent conversationalist. The cough is better, the mucus is abating and no one threw up on me, not even a little bit.
Hello! I am Amy's work computer! I greet you with happy blue screen of death! You are doomed! You are welcome!
My work computer blew the fuck up. It is "corrupted." It is "riddled with hard drive inconsistencies and bad cluster files." It is "not under warranty." It is "currently in many little pieces after I beat it to death with a baseball bat."
Helpful Network Guy: You save your stuff on your network drive, right?
Random Coworker Wondering Why I Am Weeping: But you can still get to your network drive, right?
Amy: Well, yes, but...um.
Amy's Boss: I save everything on the network drive. You do too, right?
Amy: I am going to go lie down in the parking garage for a little while.
So yes. I am really, really dumb. Four years of files are more than likely gone forever.
I sort of take a Unabomberesque approach to data management, as I simply don't trust network drives for some reason and prefer to instead create the world's most crowded and bizarrely structured My Documents folder, which is where I put EVERYTHING, in a series of folders and subfolders that only make sense to me.
Looking for a spreadsheet of stock market returns? No, that is not in the "Spreadsheets" folder, that contains the Word docs of stuff that I need to create spreadsheets for, but haven't yet. No, the actual spreadsheets are in My Pictures, in the folder labeled "Money." I mean, duh.
I am also lazy and never back anything up. If Typepad eats it, a la Diary-X, y'all will just have to remember the archives from memory.
Anyway, I looked on my network drive and found the following:
1. My Outlook Sent Items folder, circa June 2003
2. Four photos of my shoes, circa God knows when, but apparently stacked heels were really in.
3. A Word document on why Enron is the commodity stock of the future, circa July 2001
Helpful Network Guy messed around with my computer for quite some time this morning, while I paced around my office, chewing on my fingers, drinking cup after cup of coffeecoffeecoffee and texting people on my phone because the lack of email was KILLING ME, and I was even texting COWORKERS because I don't really know where people sit and have lost my list of phone extensions because WHO NEEDS IT when you have EMAIL, GLORIOUS EMAIL.
Helpful Network Guy: I'll bring you a temporary computer while I work on trying to save your data.
Amy: *thinks about all the personal crap on her work computer*
Amy: *thinks about the spare copies of her resume on her work computer*
Amy: *thinks about the baby pictures. the belly pictures. the dog pictures. the shoe pictures.*
Amy: Um. Could you maybe...you know...recover stuff without really looking at it?
Helpful Network Guy: What?
Amy: Excuse me, I need another cup of coffee.
Amy: *realizes that the Irish Creme coffee creamers are not actually getting her drunk in the slightest and considers writing Coffeemate a letter about false advertising*
Amy: Damn it, I'd really rather just send them an email.
Helpful Network Guy: What?