Sticks and stones…They were wrong, words do hurt….
Today I went to pay bills and my computer needed to be restarted. It had erased a password to sign in and pay the water bill. I knew I had it written down somewhere but, of course, my life has been tuned upside-down for the past 10 months and things are not organized like they should be. Whatever. So I started rustling through paperwork in the office I rarely use. I opened a folder and started tearing up. A page of Tin’s scribbled notes I forgot I had but couldn’t bring myself to throw away. There was nothing on the paper I needed. Notes he made for himself when we first moved here and he was looking for a job.
His handwriting was very distinct. Tin’s passion was architectural design. He was incredible drawing straight lines with no ruler and his writing reflected that talent. Some of our friends joked referring to it as “serial killer handwriting”.
Well it used to be a joke but now that writing does kill me to see. Who knew that the alphabet, 26 letters, rearranged in a specific way with a specific style could invoke immediate pain and sorrow? I just wanted to pay the water bill. Why does everything have to be so hard….