Or I could just go back to bed, head under the covers, behind in the air, in the traditional posture of the terrified.
Which would be silly. It’s a computer. It’s not going to eat me, or make me bleed, or take my books away. It can’t deprive me of the people I love or even of breakfast. In the worst possible case, I have my own personal superhero who can rescue me: Brent. He probably won’t even laugh at me.
If he did, it would be okay, since I’m already laughing at myself.