That Sinking Feeling

You know the one. Or if you don't, you will someday. That emptiness in the pit of your stomach, the hollow ache of worry and grief. The lump in the throat that won't budge no matter how hard you swallow or how long you concentrate. The raking pain that sears through your very heart like white hot iron, consuming each waking moment and refusing to fade into the background, its claws clamped around your chest firmly, disallowing sleep.

The game is down. The hard drive failed to do what hard drives are supposed to do for thousands and thousands of uninterrupted hours, began badblocking itself and demanded replacement. The new one is behaving with all the grace of a prima donna, ignoring all efforts to install the OS until its demands for a bigger dressing room are met. So the game is, for all intents and purposes, down.

Ok. Shrug all you wish. I understand if your empathy does not extend to the status of a collection of text supporting the action of 4500 denizens of ascii origin.

Let's try these instead:
While you're off snowboarding in Colorado for spring break, a rolling power outage hits your apartment in LA, and the 1960s-vintage refrigerator takes the opportunity to die permanently, leaving you with a freezer full of thoroughly spoiled chicken and Hot Pockets.

Your Uncle Charlie gets smashed while watching basketball at your house, and tosses a boot through your television at the Utah Jazz .

Your fiance forgets to set the parking gear of your SUV as he climbs out to admire the rugged coastal views of Big Sur, and it rolls merrily into midair and tumbles to the drink.

You find out your best friend has been embezzling funds from your cousin's company (where you happen to work), has been arrested and is being indicted next Tuesday, and said company can't make the payroll - including yours.

All sinking feelings of varying intensity - apply your choice, consider your favorite and multiply it by 200. That's about how I feel right now.

Actually, the game is up, but is captured in a state of lostness on an IP not our own, far from the reach of any player who might want to log in. I can get there; I know the secret phrase and possess the decoder ring. Our system admin can get there; he cloned his ring and whispered the pass-phrase to me in between pulling out handfuls of hair and beating on the console window trying to get Debian to install.

-sigh- I suppose I could take the opportunity to work on the Master Plan For Conquering the Universe while it's quiet... or get some work done on the ability templates.... or go watch the Utah Jazz, and avoid flying boots and spoiled Hot Pockets.