My computer, Sweet Pea, and I had a fight last week. It was bad. I called her many inappropriate names and almost threw her in the trash. As with most disagreements, I won some, and she won some. We both won in the end—she didn’t get traded in for a newer model, and I can now continue to write my column.

I’m not going to bore you with the details, but I had Apple Support on speed dial. Sweet Pea and I battled for four full days. Those days did not demonstrate my finest moments or good mental health.

I started with Apple, but also had several conversations with Google, GoDaddy, and WordPress. Very fine tech support people helped me so much, and I was so grateful. I worked with Michael, Sam, Kayla, Lacy, Raven, Aaron, Dapo, and one I didn’t catch his name, who had the voice of a twelve-year-old, who offered these words of wisdom:

“Emotions are too sensitive to hold back.” I laughed and agreed. As fights go, I felt exhausted. I’m now afraid to touch Sweet Pea, in case she has another hissy-fit and possibly abandons me forever.

After it all, I wondered how on earth a skinny 8 x 12 inch silver mess of technology could have the power to ruin my day, spoil my attitude, crash my schedule, and, at the same time, just sit there, ignoring my pleas with no expression or compassion.

When the operating system was installed for the third time, I finally received mail, opened apps, and could see I had not lost photos or documents. I sent something to the printer only to find out the ink cartridges were empty.

Melting into my chair, I rested my chin on the palms of my hands and massaged my temples. I wondered what message the universe was sending.

Then I remembered the words, “Emotions are too sensitive to holdback” and I had a meltdown of pure anger. (Fear, frustration, hurt, and unfairness)

It felt so good.

I realized I had four days of learning what I didn’t want to know, of being unsettled by interference with my routine, of the inconvenience of not having the world at my fingertips, and of facing the facts of technical incompetence. It must be what a child with dyslexia feels like when everyone else in the class is faster and understands more easily.

But think of all those smart and kind technicians who had the patience to walk me through small steps, tolerated my ignorance, and used their best analytical skills to solve my problem.

Priceless.

So, Sweet Pea and I are still friends, I gained a little knowledge, and now have  acquaintances from Tucson to Tennessee.

All’s well that ends well?

Until the next time: Live while you live.

Jennifer Goble, Ph.D., LPC, is the author of “My Clients…My Teachers,” and the blogger and writer of Rural Women Stories: www.ruralwomenstories.com.

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