This was supposed to be a post about stolen kisses and how much better they can make us feel than the regularly available kind. As usual, it was compelling, beautifully written, and of the utmost importance to humanity.

Until I tried to save it and found that my host's servers were down.

Again.

And I hadn't saved my brilliant musings in a text file.

Again.

And, because I've been a little scared/lonely/whatever the past couple of days (not enough kisses?), I took it in the kind of stride you'd expect: I broke down in tears of frustration.

Then I went off to make myself some yogurt. And coffee. And eggs.

And somewhere during my kitchen putterings or the long walk back to my desk, it occurred to me how unbelievably lucky I was to be in my apartment on a Thursday morning at 11am, making coffee and eggs and yogurt. That if the worst thing to happen to me today was lousy hosting service, not only was that not too bad, but that I had control over how bad I felt it to be.

So I sat down with my coffee and eggs and wrote about this, instead.

How does that make me feel?

Even better than stolen kisses.

But I'm backing this up in a text file, just in case...

xxx c

Photo by S@Z via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license