"problems with the contents", or what it feels like to lose your life's work
I have been working on a manuscript for the better part of three years, and now neither MS Fucking Word nor any other program can open it because it's corrupted.
Two and a half years of illustrations and second- and third- draft editing. Gone. And apparently without a hope of recovery. I could simply go back to an earlier, more incomplete version, but there's no chance that I can possibly remember all the touches I put on my work to improve it.
Two and a half years of work, every hour of it wasted.
I have put so much of my life into this lost work that it has taken every remaining ounce of my willpower not to kill myself immediately.
Two and a half years of illustrations and second- and third- draft editing. Gone. And apparently without a hope of recovery. I could simply go back to an earlier, more incomplete version, but there's no chance that I can possibly remember all the touches I put on my work to improve it.
Two and a half years of work, every hour of it wasted.
I have put so much of my life into this lost work that it has taken every remaining ounce of my willpower not to kill myself immediately.