The thing you can't have

I wrote that our stove needs help. In this house, that kind of event can cause life altering trauma. Really.
I love to cook. It helps me relax. It helps me focus. The first thing I thought of when George said, yup, we need a repairman (6:00 in the evening when one is not available), was all the food I wanted to make that I had not even considered 15 minutes before. In fact, our oldest was in the process of cutting up veggies to use in a chili she was making for the family. I wasn't even doing dinner.
Didn't matter. The stove was sick. "Oh no! What are we going to do? Oh the humanity!"
The repairman will be here this afternoon. I work during the day. All should be well. I will even eat lunch at school. I won't have to look at the wounded and feel its pain.
Perhaps I need therapy for this?