Taking out the trash

Writing has always been a way out for me. At ten I discovered it could lead to great things. Well a certificate and first prize in a competition. However, I got the usual, that’s nice dear, response from my parents.
At thirteen I got hauled in front of the headmistress for writing a story about a gay woman. Believe me, back in the 70’s in an all girls school, that caused a scandal, and twelve sessions with the psychomabobby!
I always wrote a diary until I caught my stepmother reading it, which destroyed my only way of venting.
But once I left home, I started again. Over the years I dread to think of the amount of trees I have used. We never had recycling, unless you count using newspapers for fish and chips, paper mashe, or make shift mats. The only recycling my old stories got were as fire lighters for the coal.
University came late for me, which was good because by then the computer had been invented. I spent £1500 on a new one, with printer. There was no interweb, that was only for the government back then. Everything was word processed. However there was still this thing about word on paper, and everything had to be printed out. The rain forest cried every time I typed. Now we had a recycling bin and a shredder. I’d spend hours unjamming that bloody thing.
Now I type on a 7″ pad. If I don’t like what I read, I press a button, poof, it’s gone.
This morning as I took my first coffee and opened my WordPress I realised that there were, to say the least, several, unfinished or untitled pieces of work. The rainforest took a deep sigh of relief, the dust man won’t be braking his back, because I just touched the screen and the trash was summarily taken out.

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