About six or seven years ago, I wrote an essay based on an incident that happened at work. It had a profound impact on me. I tossed off the essay, polished it up a bit, shared it with a few friends and promptly forgot about it.

When I joined the SCWW, it was the first thing I read in group. All I remember of that was that I was scared to death. Again, I put it away and forgot about it.

Then it was lost in the great computer crash. I only had the very first rough draft printed out. I cobbled it back together to read for that Monday Night Blues thing I got roped in to.

Apparently that lonely, ignored and almost lost little essay is my finest bit of writing. According to a couple of people I know, that is.

So, I figured I ought to at least get a good, edited copy saved on something a little more permanent that paper. So I've spent the morning re-keying and doing a little more editing.

Now I just want to curl up on the couch and eat chocolate and watch stupid TV shows. My hands and insides are still shaking.

That little almost lost essay is safely stored away now.

I don't want to mess with it any more. It messes with me too much.

I guess that's what makes it good?