I believe I may have experienced my first panic attack last night. Beau was gone brewing with the guys and I had plans to get a lot of school work done before my nice, three day weekend. I baked a Tombstone pizza, put on my sweats, and settled in my chair for some unit planning and grade updating (sounds great, I know). My plans for second semester were coming along nicely and I was loving the fact that my weekend 'to-do' list was becoming noticeably smaller.
That is until I decided I was thirsty.
Who knew that the sudden quench for a glass of V8 Splash would end any sense of accomplishment, glory, or confidence? Who knew that the simple brush of my leg on my computer screen would send my laptop tumbling to the floor? Who knew that my computer would land just perfectly on the carpet...just perfectly on my entire teaching career, aka, my flash drive.
I immediately went into panic mode. I gasped. I screamed. I cried. I picked up my broken vessel, the piece of plastic that stored my wedding day slideshow of pictures, my Masters Prospectus, my entire semester of units, worksheets, handouts, and tests, and attempted to bring it back to life. How could something so small, store so much, and suddenly leave you unable to reach it? How could my files just disappear? How could I be so stupid not to back them up???
I desperately searched our desktop computer, looking for anything that might resemble old files, stored data, pieces of the last three years of my life. It seemed everything I found that I had backed up was unimportant. I could piece together just that...pieces; however, knew my winter break work of new unit design was long gone. Vanished. Just...like...that...
Beau was gone. I was home. I proceeded to do what I always do in a predicament. First, I called Beau. Crying hysterically. Next, I called Mom. Crying hysterically. With blue and pink plaid pajama pants, a hooded sweatshirt, and blood-shot eyes, I drove like a madwoman to Best Buy to see if the Geek Squad could give me a glimmer of hope. No dice. No hope. Just a shrug, a 'sorry, there's nothing we can do,' and a piece of broken plastic.
Today, I went to school on three hours of sleep. I arrived at 6:30 AM and was able to salvage a few important files from my recycling bin (good thing I'm not an avid recycler). I vented to my students (who were very concerned), tried to be optimistic, and started retyping the documents I needed to start next semester (which happens to be Tuesday). The loss of sleep is actually affecting my mood in a positive way (or maybe that's from the 'Pants on the Ground' song I can't get out of my head). I also have one glimmer of hope. Hope in the name of FlashBackRecovery.com.
For $99, there is a 94% success rate of retrieving data from a broken flash drive. I will forever be indebted to Ryan, the owner of the Washington company, if he fixes it. His website says he can repair "flash drives broken in two, run over, or soaked in a washing machine cycle." My flash drive is still intact, just a little looser than normal. I tucked little USB in a padded envelope and sent it by priority mail to the West Coast. I will know within 2-5 days if my files were found. I will be on pins and needles until then. Until then, I will also struggle with the decision of starting to redo what I've worked so tirelessly on. Do I risk sacrificing productivity this weekend to hear good news or work to recreate files only to find my files restored? This will be the tune of my weekend.
Wish me luck. Say a little prayer. And a little advice...back up your files :/