Memories can be a choice, sometimes.
I've written myself through loneliness, depression, anxiety, anger, fear, frustration for my entire life.
My dad's a really smart person. I am, too. I still never bought my spouse a surprise dishwasher for Christmas.
It's friction. Maybe not friction that matters, but friction nonetheless.
So I averaged a B- for 2018. Oof. That F really hurts me, you know?
Y'all with your newfangled computer thingies have no idea what it was like to strive for perfection, only to be thwarted by a sticky space bar.
I can't remember the last time I wrote anything substantive longhand, and I should.