Full Metal Bitch.

I hate writing. My imagination conjures up images not words. I live my memories and my dreams as I would reality. To put the colors and the emotions onto paper is to cheapen it. Yet, our libraries, our universities are filled with rows upon rows of books. Sources of knowledge, of power, of wealth. The power to change a person's life written on flimsy pieces of paper. Destructible. Purged by fire. Purged by water. Purged by vomit and piss. Our legacy, our knowledge should be written in stone.

I have started writing again because the person I care most about in the world undergoes great anguish; fear and pain- when I lose myself to my moments of weakness and shut myself off.

This person deserves better. What any normal human being could and should ask for I cannot give continuously. Am I weak? Yes. Could I do better? That is a question that I and many others have asked myself many times. I am afraid to answer. Will my answer define me? At the moment of answering, that particle of speech is only part of the meat world. It will be heeded, then forgotten. Unlike the world of circuits and zeros and ones; where anything you type can and will be recorded.

So I write. No. I type... into this electronic world of unending memory provided there is still a meat bag somewhere to monitor this growing electrical entity.

For her.

Because she wants to remember.

For me? Maybe. When my memory cannot hold the thoughts that I deem are important, should those thoughts not be forgotten? Some would argue it is a matter of retrieval. Memories are never forgotten, they are merely lost. Leaving behind a memento, a link to the past will help you recall. Photographs, journals, letters, video.

On their wedding day, couples pay good money for a photographer and a recorder; to mark down the joyous occasion. I have never seen my mother watch her wedding video; nor my aunt; nor my recently married cousins. Is that particular video used only during times of sadness and pain? To recall happier times, the video is viewed. In doing so, the user inevitably becomes sadder. Is forgetting not better? No link to the past, no way to recall. Your pain is shortened, you move on.

The choice is not mine to decide. So I will give you the options, as many as I can in the small amount of time I have. I will create a record of my thoughts and our times.

You can choose to recall these memories, or you can choose not to.

Either way, the choice is yours.