11 October 2011

Today was almost a perfect day.
The temperature was just right for a fall day, with a light breeze. The windows were open all day. And the joyful laughter and screams of children outside filled our home. I even heard birds. The delicious smell of the chill in the air filled me with warmness and happiness. Our breakfast smoothies were almost as good as they could get. I finished a project, cleaned up the remnants of 5-6 other competed projects (they were all sewing projects so it was kinda the same mess) and made serious progress on another. The living room is cleaner than it's been in months (thanks to the finished projects) the floors are vacuumed and the laundry is slowing making it cycles. I was feeling pretty good.
Until I went to look at my bucket list and cross somethings off of it. And then the goodness of today came crashing to a halt.
It was gone. The list of over 100 things I wanted to do before I die (a lot of which were completed) was no where to be found. Gone forever. Dead. Lost. No more. I don't know how else to say it. But I was crushed, after some serious heartfelt thought I remembered. A month or so ago I opened my computer for the first time in months and it needed about a million updates, during that process I had to clean up my computer to make some much needed room. Resulting in my precious document titled 100 Things to enter the recycle bin and be deleted forever (along with over one hundred old assignments from the last three years).
I simply thought it was a list of vocab words that I had typed and in a moment of weakness/weariness/sleepiness/laziness at some early hour of the morning that I couldn't even comprehend what I was doing anymore and named it 100 Things. But I was wrong. It was a list of my hopes and dreams. Not that my hopes and dreams are gone, but there is still an empty place in my heart.
Along with the list I had small journal entries typed next to my competed goals with the date and feeling at the moment. I know that with time I will be able to recreate it, but it just won't be the same. I still feel like a small part of me died.

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