Smote by the Technology Gods.

Apparently, I have done something to anger the technology Gods. The nature of my indiscretion is unclear. Perhaps my preference for hand written notes has enraged them, or they are terribly vexed by my faith in the telephone system over their clearly superior e-mail. Maybe my lack of participation in Facebook has aroused their contempt. Whatever the cause, they are greatly peeved and as punishment for my sins they have chosen to smite me. Well, not me exactly, but instead my innocent external hard drive. Some great deity of Data storage reached down from the heavens and, pressing it's great glowing finger against the drive, wiped from existence every image I've made in the last three years. And so a great sadness descended upon the land.

Okay, maybe that's a little over dramatic. To be fair, almost everything is backed up elsewhere, squirreled away on DVDs or hidden on the remote corners of my computer. None of my professional work is lost, but my personal photos are mostly gone. Go figure, I protect everyone else's photos, but not my own. Smart move. Trips to Ecuador and El Salvador, Colorado, Wyoming, Madison, the family farm, all lost into the ethers. Bummer. Worst part: I know better.

I know hard drives fail. It happens. They break, get lost, get stolen, whatever. That's why you always have a backup. About a month ago I had my mouse arrow poised over the "add to cart" button on a set of three identical drives. The perfect redundant system. One for travelling and working from the road, one as an at home backup and the another for occasional archiving in a fire-proof safety deposit box. Now that's a good system. So why didn't I do it? Because I'm cheap.

As we speak some friends in IT are frantically performing the equivalent of harddrive CPR on the little fella, but it doesn't sound too good. We're basically looking at a total flat line.


"Shock him again."

"It's no use doctor...he's gone. Call it."

"No, damn it! We have to at least try. Give me 60 joules this time. When I look his mother in the eye, I need to tell her we did everything we could."

ZAP! Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep

Quiet sobs emanate from the corner where I'm curled into the fetal position slowly rocking myself.

"He was so young. Why God? Why?"

I should find out Monday what if anything can be recovered. Wish me luck.