I'm in mourning.

Our computer died Monday.

It's not an irretrievable loss. I don't feel the need to throw myself on the burning pyre of its remains. My writing still exists, nicely backed up on my laptop. But there are some losses.

The one I'm noticing most at the moment? The loss of my favorites list online. My laptop had a few of my favorite sites, but most everything I've saved for research purposes over the years was on the other computer. Medical sites on neurosyphillis. Medieval Welsh castles. Common poisons. Tudor battles. History of the Welsh longbow. English/Welsh dictionary. Victorian women's education. History of the British police force, including the number of officers in any London station in 1900. WWI trench poetry. Agents and publishers.

Of course I can find them again. I hope. But it doesn't feel the same. I spent hours on that old computer researching those sites. I loved them, and I loved what they represented about my writing. (If my husband ever dies suddenly from monkshood poisoning, I might have a hard time explaining it away.) My favorites list is a peek into my psyche. Maybe not a pretty one, but revealing.

Now I start over.