Bright Spots

A lot has happened since I properly updated! I’ve moved to Texas with my big sister. We have an apartment we like immensely and jobs we’re… putting up with, haha. I’m working two part-time jobs, sometimes totaling up to 48 hours a week. One is at a library, and it would be ideal if it wasn’t only 20 hours (and every weekend, to boot). The other is in retail, which… yeah. Retail. I have to talk myself out of quitting virtually every day. It’s not worth the money – except that I have to have the money. Urgh.

The last week has been especially tough for me. I wrecked my car, came down with a miserable cold, and my sister went home for Christmas, leaving me to take care of myself, the dog and the apartment alone. (I’ll be following along after her as soon as my work schedule permits — but that’s a whole new set of obstacles, involving a 12-hour drive on Christmas Eve after a full shift, in a borrowed car that I hate, with a dog.)

My GPS is in the car that I wrecked, at the body shop, so I’ve spent this week getting lost over and over again. That usually involves tears and panic, not to mention lost time. The housekeeping is falling to pieces because I don’t have the time or energy to clean up after myself. All I want to do is sleep and I can’t even sleep well because I’m so wretchedly sick.

Not a very merry Christmas season, you might say.

Except really, Christmas is the one bright spot in all the mess. Seeing lights and trees and decorations never fails to lift my mood, even if just for a moment. I still love the carols, even after hearing them on endless repeat at my retail job. I plug in the Christmas tree and outside lights at our apartment, even if only me and the dog are there to see them. And the one thought getting me through all this is that in a few days’ time, I’ll be home with my family, opening gifts and eating pancakes and doing all the things we’ve always done together. I won’t have to go to work or pay bills or do much of anything, just for a few days.

I’m trying not to think beyond that.

Come back to me, my little friend!

Our topic today, class, is something very important to writers everywhere — a crucial concept that many fail to grasp until it is too late, and they are left to weep and cry out against their own mistakes. This concept is called Backing Up Your Work.

In other words, dear readers, I have lost my flash drive, and think I might actually cry.

My dear little flash drive has been my loyal and constant companion for months now. I dug it out of the lost-and-found, where it had been for over a year, erased everything on it, and began carrying it around in my pocket at work. I frequently end up switching desks several times in a day, and keeping my writing on a flash drive seemed a great way to keep it mobile without depending on web-clouds that might crash at any time or, more realistically, be inaccessible on the sometimes-aging library computers. It contains notes and half-finished chapters of at least three writing projects, an armload of photos I needed to take off my phone, my budget, and a host of less consequential things that I nevertheless made frequent use of.

Without my little electronic friend, I find myself at a total loss. To do much on Project A, I need notes from the flash drive; Project B I could possibly move forward on, if I could remember precisely where I left off. I could work on Project C, I suppose, but A and B are really the more urgent. What’s a girl to do? Should I start trying to reconstruct the lost material? The very prospect is exhausting and depressing in the extreme. Surely it’s better, for now — it’s only been three days — to keep wracking my mind for where it might be, hoping and praying it might still show up.

When it does — please, please when it does — I will fall on my knees in joy and gratitude… and then back up my stuff from here to kingdom come!