Last week began well. Finally more than cherry tomatoes: the paste tomatoes are coming in slowly but surely and the maincrops are finally beginning. We were able to have two tomato salads – big improvement on none; plus a lunch with tomato slices on bagels.We had some rain for a change – the spring and July were rainy but August started out dry. The acidanthera and the phlox and marigolds are blooming along with some tall campanulas. Bouquets on the table. All the roses of Sharon are in full bloom – pink, white and purple.I downloaded the new Mac system and it blew up my computer. I have email. I can create documents but I cannot access any of my previous documents that I’ve written since I bought this fucking computer. I can get on the internet. But I can’t get at any poems or short stories I’ve written since 2015. I can’t access my workshop files. I can’t access my personal files. I’ve lost everybody’s sizes and preferences.I can get at my photos but not my financial records. It makes me want to go back to PC’s where that never happened to me.I spent much of Friday trying to access any files I still could without much luck. Then Woody was on the phone with Applecare for three and a half hours with no luck. They caused it but they can’t fix it.I guess I’ll try to Geek Squad tomorrow if they’ll come out here, which I doubt. Apparently one of the upgrades turned off my backup so I have no backup. I thought I was backing up regularly, compulsively as I always do. But the backup had been turned off or disabled.Tomorrow is Monday and my assistant Penny and I will spend the day moving such files as we can find on her computer back to mine. I think she has my poems, short stories, some garden information and probably some recipes. Most of where we have submitted work. We’ll find out tomorrow. I couldn’t sleep the past two nights trying to figure out if there’s anything I can do to recover my work. I have hard copies of all my poems, but entering them will take a couple of months.I am in a state of high anxiety and agita. The cats read me and keep butting against me, rubbing on my legs, climbing in my lap. I feel sick to my stomach.