Yesterday was a total fail for calm mindfulness. Yes, I did the thing where I crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head and cry. I didn’t even make it three days into the week. And it wasn’t because this children’s game is a thing that exists, although, I won’t lie, the fact I live in a culture that produced this game may have contributed to it.

No, it was because I spilled my triple-shot flat white over my Macbook Air. It was sitting in an actual puddle. It bricked.

I cannot thank authors Adrian Fridge and Tami Valdura enough for linking me to emergency “Help, I’ve spilled coffee on my laptop” pages, and telling me to invert and dry the brick.

Apparently I can cope with being jobless and crushed with expensive and irrevocable family responsibilities, but I cannot cope with being jobless, crushed with expensive and irrevocable family responsibilities, and computer-less. I lost it, guys. Much crying ensued. While my Macbook lay propped on an awkward angle in the airing cupboard I spent twenty-four miserable hours moping and catastrophizing. I wasted an entire day.

Guess what? I pulled my Macbook out of the airing cupboard this morning, pushed the power button, and held my breath. It turned on.

There’s a lesson in here for me, and if I was a better human I’d probably learn it. Until then I know my bed will always be there for me when I really, really need it.