The Glory of Irony

by The Dreamer

So a day after I post my oh-so-inspirational preach and mental cleanse, I’m writing this ironic crap. And I get that maybe five years down the road, this probably won’t matter as much to me anymore, but to me, today…in this moment…it’s just hurts so badly.

Yesterday my external hard-disc went missing. Today, my computer lost it, completely. Troubleshoot and system restore stopped working as well. My work is all missing.

This is what I lost:

  • A novella that was one chapter to its epilogue. I spent blood and tears and two months writing this. It was, to me, my proudest work ever, yet. A quirky love story about a girl and her imaginary friend and it was just f***king brilliant to me and I loved it so much because it was everything I wanted to convey. I understand you cannot just shit out a novel in two months, but I did. I spent every living moment of my holiday basically just typing this out. I thought I had saved it in my back-up hard drive. I didn’t. At this point of time, it’s close to 10,000 words. 10,000 words that I had painstakingly crafted out…gone.
  • A second novella I was working on. I named it “Where we Fade and Fall Apart” and I had described my characters to such detail. I had crapped out research on the subject and I was so f***king in love with my protagonists River and Park. I wrote when I was tired of my previous one and I wrote like I was possessed. Now this is Gone too.
  • An extensive phrasebook, filled with my favourite quotes, phrases and words from the books I had read. Over 600 phrases, painstakingly categorized. I remember spending one entire day typing them all out, flipping through pages, copying from cue cards. The tension in my shoulders lasted for a week afterwards. My fingers were cramped and numbed. My wrists couldn’t move properly. I couldn’t hold chopsticks for three days.

There’s nothing I can do to salvage it, and I’m holding back tears, croaking hoarsely at the top of my lungs to the saddest ballads about loss and grief. A four letter curse word is ringing in my ears. My parents keep reproaching me. Saying if I knew my computer was in such a bad state I should have been more careful. But I was so obsessed. I wrote so much that everything around me fell apart. I certainly threw technical, boring things like “back up” to the back of my mind. I was only concerned about existing in this dreamworld that I was slowly building for myself – a castle full of magic and wonder.

I tried everything to make this ache in my heart stop. You know how it feels like? Like someone had dug out my guts and dumped me out in the bitter wind. The skin covering what used to be my stomach but now is reduced to an empty, gaping black hole flaps harshly. The cold engulfs my entirety. I freeze from inside out.

I tried picking up books and to hide myself in this fictional world. I fished out the most chick-lit title I could find. “Boys like you.” Harmless right? Nope. It’s about two lost souls who are living in remorse and grief and are basically self-depreciating individuals who blame themselves and has lost all hope and are in this endless pit of blackness. And every single sentence, from “The ache in my heart felt like it was crushing me from inside out” to “You know that moment when your world is about to implode? That moment where you have to face a truth so hard you know that it will knock you on your ass and you feel sick inside?” was so true and real and raw that it made bile rise up from my throat. Is someone playing a joke on me? Are you kidding me?

Hiding myself in the storeroom doesn’t work. The loss is just amplified, reverberated off the four walls, mocking me.

I know I’m so stupid and dumb and silly. It literally takes you three seconds to back your work up. Why couldn’t I do it? Why did I just assume that my computer would hold out for me? It was my mistake, and I was so stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

It feels like my entire blissful three months of holiday didn’t exist. I want to erase it, but I can’t. I can’t vomit the words out anymore. It’s not the same. It won’t flow the same way. 10000 words can’t appear instantaneously. My characters won’t appear the same way. Maybe it’s a sign that I should just stop writing forever, for jesus sake.

In a twisted and miserable attempt to make this tragedy something bittersweet, I’m trying to imprint in my mind that these things were lost in a fire. A metaphorical fire that swallowed my majestic castle of dreams up. Maybe then I’ll stop making myself feel so goddamned guilty and angry and upset.

The weight is crushing me.

I don’t think anyone will understand how heavy I’m feeling.

I don’t think anyone will understand.

This is so goddamned ironic. And pathetic.

I feel sick.

I feel so small.

What a beautiful way to end my holiday.

myself

there’s something about
dust floating in a slant of light in a dark room
which haunts me

there’s something tragic
in the way the specks of nothing
are illuminated

maybe
it
reminds
me
of
myself

-marykate crowe

j e a n

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