When I arrived home, my honey informed me that our video streaming service, Nix (name changed to protect the innocent), was not working and had, in fact quit the day I left. He's fairly technology-challenged, and didn't even try to fix it, so, I fiddled around for awhile with my grief-stricken, weary brain, far past the point when I should have stopped. I talked and computer-chatted with service people at both Nix and Sang (brand name of DVD player, also changed), and encountered the usual aggravation from dealing with young technicians who are trying to be helpful, but don't really have a clear-cut answer and are only reading possible solutions from a script.
Finally, I could do no more. I crawled under my desk to unplug the computer, and there, on the floor, next to my fuzzy slippers that hadn't made it to the closet for the summer, I sobbed. I cried because I couldn't fix a problem, because my dad was gone, because my heart ached. I cried for everything that was wrong in my life.
After a few moments, I got up, blew my nose and felt a sense of lightness. Tears are cathartic, crying is therapeutic. I will keep my ban on public weeping, but I do want to thank Nix and Sang for providing me with that beneficial release, a service I'm sure they are unaware they offer and would no doubt charge me extra if they knew.
Yes, my video streaming is working fine, thanks to one of the eight or so changes I implemented. Nix and Sang usually provide me with fine service, so let me not discourage anyone from using them. Instead, my lesson today, take the opportunity to have a pity party for yourself now and then. Cry under your desk, in bed, wherever you feel safe. Life looks better from the other side.