I am a douche.
Seriously.
If I could kick my own ass right now, I totally would.
About five months ago I wrote a short story about my friend dying of stomach cancer. It wasn't very long, but I felt it conveyed how I felt the last time I saw her, and I found it extremely therapeutic at the time.
I showed it to one person.
He encouraged me to share it. I resisted, because it was so intensely personal and I'll admit, I was a bit embarrassed because it's so emotional and I have a hard time sharing that with others.
I thought of it today, because October 21st marked the first year anniversary of her death, and I've been thinking about her.
I finally felt ready to share it.
But guess what?
I typed it up on the computer at work, which recently had it's hard drive completely erased.
I have no back up copies.
At the time I wrote it, I printed one copy.
It is nowhere to be found.
I want to cry.
I've scoured my emails, my floppies, flash drive, every single book I own.
It's gone.
I suspect that I may have left it in the library book I was reading at the time. A short story collection by Amy Hempel. I've decided to try and locate the copy I had checked out, and maybe just maybe it's inside the book.
There are five different copies. I am going to check out every single one.
I pray that I find it.