Broken Down On The Internet Superhighway

My computer is sitting, in pieces, on some guy's desk in Vermont, where it's been sitting for two months, as of today. First, it took ages to figure out what the problem was-- intermittent being an aspect of a condition not lending itself to swift diagnosis. Then, after turning the machine on and off more than 20 times, and running diagnostic programs for hours, a teensy tincey itsy bitsy problem was discovered all the way down in the innermost recesses of the mainboard. Which was then extracted and shipped off to the fatherless trolls who manufactured it incorrectly in the first place, and who have taken enough time to build 496 six mainbaords blindfolded at the bottom of a disused water well to manage to still not have the board fixed.
So I'm sitting here, at the mercy of an unfamiliar computer, and unfamiliar keyboard, trying to remember passwords that are saved in a hard drive hundreds of miles away being the very example, the Platonic Ideal of a patient person.
"Boy, this doctor is taking a long time. Is he always this late?"
"Why do you think we call you people in the waiting room 'patients'?"
Right.