Have you ever written something so perfectly and delicately representative of a feeling, a cross section of the you at that very moment in time –
And then LOST it??
Many nights I’ll kiss Blue Eyes goodnight and turn over, left shoulder pushed into goose down alternative (birds are my friends and I shall not pluck them and make rest upon their down) and cotton, and I’ll write. Things feel different by the dim light of bedtime, and using my iPhone notepad app and my right thumb, I will write. Sometimes the retaining wall crumbles upon that magic half hour, and thoughts, words, feelings, colors, they just flow through my hands almost faster than my right thumb can account for.
I’ve written some of my favorite posts in this manner, and this one was to be another for the sidebar. I tapped Done and plugged my phone in, turning over on my right and tucking up behind him, resting with his warm skin and the knowledge that my words were safe within that little yellow iLegal Pad until I was ready to add photos and publish.
Today was that day. I touched the pad of my fingertip to the small yellow and white square, and scanned the opened list of notes, organized by date.
You keep me safe… Wednesday >
This was a quote I saw somewhere that I really liked and thought I could be inspired by for a post, or at least, just be inspired by, so I saved it.
Maybe that’s what lov… Tuesday >
This was the closing paragraph to his birthday post from last week. I typed it with sticky digits while leaning over the kitchen counter after having placed the single candle at the cake’s frosted center.
Blog Thoughts… Sunday >
This is where I keep short snips of thought that may one day bloom as posts.
Some nights, things… 12/28/13 >
This is the beginning of a post I haven’t published yet, but likely will this week or next.
But… somewhere in the middle there should have been a post that began… rats, I can’t even remember how it began. It was about an argument. Into every love, a storm must occasionally send its thunder – electricity to the ground, shock to the heart, and we are no different. That night I dimmed my bedside lamp on a rough couple of days, and as I dusted his face and closed lids with butterfly and human girl kisses, I felt the words backing up behind my thumb. And I typed.
And it’s GONE. The note is gone. I took corresponding photos and checked their date in Lightroom – January 2, 11:52 pm.
I think I went through the five stages of grief.
Denial: “No. No! This can’t be! I must not be looking in the right place. Maybe if I reboot…”
Anger: “This is such a sloppy mound of dung! What the serious fuck, Apple?!?! I trusted you with my heart!!!”
Bargaining: “Ok, maybe if I close all apps and then reboot and turn back on. Damn it. If only I’d backed up. Why didn’t I pay that extra $24.99 for cloud storage this year? Why didn’t I type directly into my WordPress app like he’s always getting on my case to do? I’m marrying a professional tech god, heavens to Betsy, why didn’t I listen? Why???”
Depression: “My night is ruined. I can’t write now. I just want to cry. How could I be so stupid? Poop on this whole day.”
Acceptance: “You know what? It’s ok. Lesson learned. I can choose what I do next. I can let this ruin my mood, sully the grilled dinner by candlelight and viewing of Stephen King’s Pet Semetary we had planned, but it won’t bring those words back. They’re lost forever. So I’m not, and I won’t.”
Looks like that cake I made him was at least edible…
Reading his Popular Science after dinner. I love his hands, I can’t explain why…
Maybe they aren’t lost forever. They’re still in my head and my heart somewhere, right? Perhaps if I lay very still, hook my ankles around his under the covers, and stare at the green light from the Apple AirPort under the dresser, they will come wandering on back, like old friends I never really lost at all.
How about you? Ever lost your work? How do you back up? Or do you? If you don’t, I highly recommend it, lest you be subjected to writing this same kind of post. Be smarter than me. Listen to Blue Eyes. He’s a professional.