How relaxed is your relationship with your computer?

Almost three weeks ago, without any forewarning, the unimaginable happened: My hard drive crashed - "for the first time in my entire life!"

From then on I went through different stages:

First, I was in disbelief and panic. Questions like, "how can this happen?" and "what am I going to do without my computer?" occupied my thinking during the first hours after the event.
And because it was a weekend, I knew I was not going to get the laptop back "soon," meaning the next day. Needless to say that this did not calm me down.

To make matters worse, I had not backed up my data since November. Consequently, I had trouble falling asleep that night. My mind was scanning my memory bank in an attempt to retrieve valuable information.

On the next morning, I noticed an irritation, oscillating between "slight" and "severe." I sat at my desk, utterly confused about what to do next and how to start my day. My usual routine for the last eight years of checking emails, answering them, checking website statistics, reading Blog updates, ect. was painfully disrupted. I felt vulnerable and isolated. After a while, I grabbed a book, stepped outside, and with a sigh sat down on a chair and began to read.

Then I noticed that I was reading like I hadn't been reading in a long time: slowly, with intense attention, and every once in a while looking up and realizing the beautiful environment - the light breeze, the rustling in the trees, the songs of the birds, the warmth of the sun.

Suddenly, I had all the time of the world. Finally, I felt a deep inner peace.

By Monday afternoon, I was surprisingly glad to hear that the repair guys were still busy to determine the extent of the damage and to save my data. I continued to start my days peacefully by sitting outside for an hour and reading. Additionally, I found myself willing to dedicate only one hour per day to check emails on my husband's computer.

The amount of time at my disposal seemed to triple; time itself deepened.
By the middle of my first computer-free week, I had a deep understanding for some of my students who refuse to purchase a computer and who go to the library for their email correspondence.

Eventually, it took me a whole week to arrive at the decision to order a new hard drive.

The second week felt like vacation.
I increasingly enjoyed my life without a computer.
Contrarily, friends felt the need to pity me. "That's too bad," they commented on my computer-less condition. "I could not live without a computer!" one friend exclaimed.

When the call came that my computer was ready to be picked up, I almost felt a sadness and a loss. I gave myself an additional computer-free day before I drove to town to take my laptop back.

And now?
Well, I am writing this sitting outside again, marveling at the beauty of the high desert. It is a wonderful evening. The breeze elicits playful sounds from the wind chime.

The question now is not how to live without a computer.
Instead, how to live with it?
How to live with this - admittedly - helpful friend that demands so much of my time, grabs my attention whenever I enter my office, and quits cooperation when I expect it the least?

I guess it's like with everybody and everything else: dancing the line between dependence and independence, respectful for the needs of both parties.