MOVING ON

I have these diskettes that are filled with my files, so many different files and such. Mostly some stories and poems that I write and compile. I’m so terrified that I’d lose them that I have two copies of each diskette. Sadly, there really isn’t much that one person can do against the inevitable aging of diskettes… I haven’t touched them for a while (maybe a year), and I’m terrified to. It’s one thing to have suspicions and it’s quite another to have them all confirmed. I know they’re probably all corrupted already since for some weird reason, diskette life span doesn’t last long for me. Besides, I can’t seem to open the diskette case/drawer that houses ALL my diskettes…

Normally, the mere thought that I could lose my files fills me with dread, panic, mindless irritation, just to name a few emotions that curse through me. Now, however, there’s a sort of… acceptance with no negative feelings attached. I keep thinking of the stories and poems that I’ve written and stored in there, the poems have been printed, so I don’t really have much fear of completely losing those. But the stories are a different story (that’s a weird sentence). I know at last count, I’ve had about… maybe 30+ stories that I’ve started, some I’ve finished (uh… 10, I think). The finished ones aren’t a problem since I usually print them once I’m done. It’s the other 20+ stories that I worry about. “When I Didn’t Know” is one of them… at last check I think I was on page… uh… 100-something. But Liza said she had a copy of that so I guess that’s one worry of my list. But the others… ooh, it hurts. Yet somehow… it’s okay. Is this a part of growing up? Heh. I think it is. I learn to accept losses and move on, not exactly easily, but at least with less excess baggage than before. I was always the type of person who couldn’t really let go that easily because when they’ve mattered to me, they really matter to me. I like to make sure that I’ve done everything I can to salvage it… and when it’s really useless, that’s when I reluctantly let go.

As we grow up (older?), maybe we actually learn to let go more often than not… realizing that some things just happen that we have no control over. And it’s useless to cry over spilt milk, so to speak.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go watch a Disney flick.