Yup. So I started looking through boxes, trying to decipher if any of them were mine. I was up on ladders and step stools and crouched down all the while trying to avoid the spiders I knew were there but couldn't see.
My first hint of success was finding a box full of old high school workbooks and AP test prep books and college application remnants. No luck with actual books, but finding that box at least told me that I do have possessions somewhere in that garage. And I found this eighth-grade treasure:
Oh the joys of 14-year-old creativity!
After some more rummaging—and really the actual rummaging was kept to a minimum, because Dad wouldn't love the organized chaos of the garage to be become unorganized chaos—I found another box that contained many of my books! I sifted through this buried treasure—I think it was literally buried—and made a selection of books to take inside with me.
Many of these books are writing books I bought back in high school and writing books Grandma gave me. Regardless, I was excited to find this treasure trove of words and stories I'd forgotten.
But did I find Asher Lev? No. I swear I have my own copy. . . .