It is probably one of the hardest things I’ll ask myself to do other than birth that baby. To throw out my dear friend word processor. And here’s the rest of the story.
I wanted to write. Always. And at some point, my Mom and Grandmother and maybe my Sister all chipped in to buy me the word processor. It’s a glorified type writer. And it was my way to professionally type and create stories. I even had a story that I worked on for a while. And one day might work on again just for s and g’s. I also wrote letters and college papers on this hunk of beige plastic. Computers weren’t affordable yet, OK?
So this thing represented me being a writer. And I moved it’s awkward heavy body and it has sat in a box in my attic the entire time we’ve lived here; 13 years. I kept thinking I’d want to make sure I printed out the documents on the hard disks before I threw it out. But I think the real hangup is that I don’t realize I’ve already become a writer. I have arrived unnoticed into the future I imagined. And I have to let go of the past where I kept dreaming of what would be to see I am right where I’m supposed to be.
And so I write this piece this morning as I plan to take my old friend and the owner’s manuals to the homeowner’s drop off site for recycling. And leave her there. Gods speed to word processor heaven. Your time has come and gone. And frankly, I love my new laptop tremendously. Parting is such sweet sorrow old friend.
