I had a little pile of pretty writings stacked on the floor by my dresser. Drawings, many writings, doodles, some old, some recent... and some for the girl zine. I`ve been working on zines tonite... and I retreat to my room to my pile of writings... and they aren`t there. I go to ask my mother about them, and she replies cooly, that she, "Threw that trash out." And I stare and stare in disbelief at this woman, who has no idea what she has done, and could care less about what it all was. I finally manage to sputter out a.. "Why?" and she retorts that my mess was getting on her nerves. So I start yelling about how some of that stuff was important... and meant something to me, and she looks at me... and casually says, "Whatever." She walks away, and I am... left, empty. With such a great sense of loss, I`m so sad now, but I`m unable to cry... unable to fathom that tens of my ideas are lost to me. All in one cruel cleaning streak... -Sigh- I`m just completely... startled and angered... and I... can`t believe this!