40 days, 40 nights

I'm not sure what I was thinking when I thought my world could stand on its own for almost two months without my computer propping it up. Granted, there were perfectly legitimate reasons for leaving it at the time, but rational thought was quickly hurled from the speeding moving van to the wayside as I now stare at this Macbook-shaped emptiness on my desk. Again, I find myself the sucker on the losing end of an ongoing, and completely unhilarious bet with myself.

I keep having these visions of some metaphorical newlywed couple who are suddenly and inexplicably separated from each other. But then there's this bizarre twist that most such tech-deprived dreams take; the clouds above part, and a pristine, white USB cable descends from the sky, striking up heaven's choir into an angelic rendition of "Every Time We Touch." And then like a Bonnie Tyler music video, my weary iPhone and prodigal Macbook Pro rise from the ground on pedestals between the cable, and swirl together in a collage of soft cross-dissolves, multicolored bloom lighting, and manufactured fog. Finally, a velvet curtain embroidered with "please wait, sync in progress," drops over the scene, obscuring the steamy action from view.

Goddamn it, I need my compy back.