Tonight I am writing a journal, I rarely do them publically, but since the 1st of June 2001 - until last night at midnight, I kept a pretty religiously accurate personal journal - with an entry of at least once a week for the last few years. I would write down the activity of the time, my feelings, post pictures of prominent people or places, and use it as a scrapbook of future plans and past events. It was a big file, and contained a big chunk of my life in ASCII form.

Last night, I deleted it. A few clicks - and those times were gone.

It always made for interesting reading when I was bored, looking back over my past, seeing how things were one year to the day, I did it often, and then would frequently write about the differences some 365 days on. I used to grin about the good times, and brew upon the bad, and I would always come away from it - feeling indifferent, I never really understood why until last night.

There are two mechanisms in the human brain for the purposes of storage and deletion. They are called remember, and forget. I realised last night, that anything I need to remember, I will - and anything I need to forget, I have. The interference in that natural mechanism suddenly seemed dangerous, storing information that I shouldnt, I should forgive and forget, and not write down the things that are destined to become brain-trash. With the file gone I thought about the good times, and reading the journal used to bring them back - but for what purpose? I remember those good times anyway, they were beautiful and warm, the light moved gracefully and the birds sang - these things will stay with me forever, so why write them down?

Suddenly there seemed no point anymore - I was interfering in a machine designed to maintain my sanity and keep me drip fed with the memories that I needed, while keeping me sterile of those I must forget. With the file deleted, I feel strange without it - but I don't mourn its loss.