Two days ago my computer went nuts, and I could find none of my user directories. I thought they were deleted, gone, poof.
I had backed them up spottily; when my external hard drive failed I began emailing manuscripts to myself after every writing session. But I wasn't very consistent, and a lot of stuff would have been lost.
And I was almost glad.
Not because I don't think it was good work...some wass, some wasn't...but because I am so very, very tired.
I don't want to muscle through this stuff, and try to make it part of my legacy. I should, but I've had more than enough.
And that is a warning from me to me. If I allow myself to stop caring, pretty soon I will allow myself to stop living.
The ending was happy; the files were merely hidden, and it was the work of a moment to unhide them
Is that a word? Unhide?
The drama was for nothing.
But for a moment, I was glad.
Just for fun, here's a musical blast from the past...