AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE TEXT
The author would like to disclose the fact that the earlier parts of her life have been written in scribbled notes in journals and diaries and loose paper alike. But when she was ten years old, she went through her writing and decided that unfinished drafts are no-good drafts, thereby tearing and throwing away the scribbled notes she had accumulated. The result of this rendered her a draft-less, journal-less, defeated aspiring writer, and she buried her head in her pillow until her mother sternly told her to clean her bedroom. There was, of course, something infinitely lost that day, and she spent the next thirteen years of her life trying to piece together the scraps that once lay dejectedly in her wastebasket. The author wishes to admit that there was a lesson to be learned—namely, that when one sits down to write, even to write what might later equate to bona fide shit, one must never forget to click: save. So, reader, what you have here is quite possibly the most unedited version of this author’s life, save for a few grammatical and syntactical errors that she most judiciously corrects given proper review. Glean what you like, pass judgment as freely as you wish, but also remember that the author finds with sufficient assurance that her insignificant story, as with the rest of you weary souls, needs to be told.
