Can’t get going on clumsy today. The good thing is that I am writing anyway. About 7 years ago my journals got stolen in a house break-in. It’s a very long story with karmic implications that I won’t go into here. But essentially my life’s work, 20 years worth, was taken, right out of my closet. I had them in a duffel bag, my reasoning being that if my house ever caught on fire and I had to get out quick, I would grab the bag and go because that would be the only thing I would want to save. Ironic, right?
The result of The Theft stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t write a thing for over 6 years. Think about that. I wrote practically every day for 20 years then nothing. Not. A. Thing. I remember the night it happened, of course I always will. As I was hunched over the toilet thinking I was going to be sick, I just let them go. “They’re gone” I said to myself. “They are gone and you are never going to see them again.” So, I let them go. I buried the pain that I didn’t want to feel, then I stopped writing. It’s been a long journey back but the important thing is that I’m back! Thanks for reading.