Posted by: allaboutcheryl | April 21, 2015

Day Thirteen: Serially Found

On day four, you wrote a post about losing something. Today’s Prompt: write about finding something.

Today’s twist: if you wrote day four’s post as the first in a series, use this one as the second installment — loosely defined.

After my failure to be recognized in my first attempt at writing competitively, I stopped writing. I was defeated. Dejected and deflated.

I guess I was mistaken. I thought that I had a gift.

I thought that I had a talent.

I thought that I had a craft that I could share with others and that others would want to partake of my gift.

Now I was dry. My creative juices were suckkkkked out of me. I put my pen and paper aside to concentrate on more traditional writings. Training packages. Fliers. Brochures.

Time went by.

If you read my assignment from Day 7, a dialogue between Neat and Clutter, you know that I am housekeeping-challenged. I have been all my life. I call it a collector of things. My husband calls it hoarding.

Every now and then, the cleaning, purging, tossing (then retrieving) bug will hit me. When things get too overwhelming for even me, then it’s time to get rid of some stuff. Here I sat on the floor of my home office, very slowly and methodically going through boxes of memories.

I was so excited. Some of these boxes had been taped and sealed for years. I would just move them from old address to new address. Part of my compulsive baggage. I never wanted to open them. I just stacked them into attics, basements or closets. Wherever I had an empty space. This was on my to-do list to do later. But later never came.

Until that day.

It was always hard for me to throw anything away. You might need it later. So I kept it. Franklin Planners. Remember those? I had binders of those. Classic size. Then I changed to the compact size. Too small. Switched back to Classic. I had the storage binders filled with years of meetings, phone calls, appointments, birthdates, lunches, addresses and partial notes that made no sense to me now. But maybe it did when I wrote it years ago.

This purging process was going a lot slower than I thought it would. Maybe it could go faster if I wasn’t going down memory lane with every item that I would pull out of the box. My ‘to keep’ pile was a lot larger than the ‘to trash’ pile. Sigh.

But I was almost done for the day. I only had one more box to go through, then I was going to call it quits for the night. This last box was showing aggressive signs of wear, tear and age. I had no idea what was in this box. What would I find? Why was this taped, saggy box so important to me? Probably calendars from decades ago with outdated dates.

This is probably the one box that I will be able to toss in its entirety.

Oh my goodness!

I could not believe my eyes, when I ripped it open.

It contained my yellow composition notebooks from elementary school, where I wrote my first story!

All of a sudden, I felt something break inside of me. I carefully re-taped the box and placed it on the upper shelf in my closet. Then I sat down at my computer and began to write again.

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