Carolyn J.
Rose
It doesn’t
seem fair.
I struggle to
remember names and dates and places.
The Internet
never forgets. In fact, not only does its vast memory hold correct information,
but it has room for erroneous information as well.
I lose
addresses and scraps of paper on which I’ve jotted the titles of books I intend
to read, chores I need to complete, and phone calls that should be made.
The Internet
keeps everything.
I have to winnow
out clothes and books and reorganize closets and shelves to make room for new
acquisitions. The Internet
just adds another shelf, another closet, another room, another warehouse.
And once
something is stored on the Internet, good luck tossing it out or altering it.
I’ve authored
books now out of print and no longer available, but apparently the Internet
isn’t convinced of that. I have profiles I can’t seem to change on social media
sites I no longer belong to. My father died in 2003, but I’ve found a place on
the Internet where he’s listed as being in his 90s and living in a house sold
years ago.
I find that
weird and even painful. But I also find it oddly comforting.
I’ve started
to think of the Internet as a scrapbook that’s been in the family for decades.
The tape has yellowed and the glue no longer sticks. Pictures and notes have
come loose, been stuffed behind others, or crammed into a rubber-banded stack
at the back of the book. It’s all there. You just have to know where to look.
As I get older
and begin to forget more little things and my mind starts to wander and betray
me, I’m cheered by the thought that the Internet has my back. I’ll be okay. As
long as I can find my password.
