And do nothing at all when you ... with a great deal of trepidation ... gently press the power button.
Strangely, I did not shout and neither did I cry. Readers, I merely muttered, like a mantra, "Oh please, don't die," and pressed the button again. And again. And a third time, all with no result.
I pulled back from beneath my desk and sat straight upon my haunches. I thought and pondered and I mouthed the world, "Oh please, don't die," still strangely, preturnaturally, calm.
Then remembered the main switch at the back and descended — why not? — to switch it off, and then on again.
My beast lit up, powered on and booted (and you know it, because I'm typing this entry now).
"Oh thank god!" I whispered in a breath like a desperate rush of a prayer. And I returned to Raven in the kitchen, laughing, as I told her what had transpired. And laughed some more, when I realized that — now the danger was passed — my heart was beating like a winded rabbit cornered by a pack of hungry hounds.
I think one of the fans is dying (it's certainly making enough noise!), and I'm going to back up everything tomorrow; but for now, I can rest easy know I can return to my labours in the morning. <*knocks wood*>