Do computers get cold feet?

I'm in the Cincinnati airport. My flight takes off in about an hour and a half. I'm sitting here sucking away my battery with overpriced internet, my computer randomly and repeatedly restarting itself and causing me no insignificant amount of anxiety. This computer and I have been virtually inseparable for the last eight months; I practically see more of it than I do my own husband. I cry when it gets sick; my computer is an overworked, dirty baby with sticky traces of Diet Dr. Pepper and innumerable unreachable crumbs mucking up its keyboard.

So I have decided that my computer has cold feet. It's not totally sure that it's actually up to the task of not getting zapped by foreign voltages, of being transported across thousands of miles of ocean. My computer most likely wonders, for instance, what it is expected to do if it ends up falling into the Atlantic Ocean. It is not the it's fault that it is less than water resistant; blame its creators for that. What if it can't pick up the internet when it gets to France, and it left all to its lonesome and unconnected with the outside world? My computer worries that its mommy will forget to lock the door and it will be snatched away and have its organs sold on the Black Market. It is afraid of a hundred million different half-formed fears of what could go wrong to it, of being cold and alone on warm Paris nights and not knowing where to find a laundromat to wash its laptop case. In short, it is quite a pitiable piece of twisted electronic dendrites and grated virtual nerves.

I, on the other hand... am doing great...