Find the prompt here: @daily.prompt/mariannewests-freewrite-writing-prompt-day-2109-mechanical-dog
Mechanical dog. We had this old robot dog at some point. A memory or a real thing or a fake thing or a not mine memory or a what? I don't know. I think there is a box somewhere here, in our storage shed, of a robot dog toy. A robot dog toy that came from my grandparents on my dad's side. That my parents saved because it was old. It's oldness lent it credibility. We have a lot of things that are old because they are old. Are they worth having? Is it worth remembering that I wanted to name my first horse that was my very own horse "Sleipnir"? I wouldn't want to name a horse that now. Like, what would I even call it for short? How does one even pronounce "Sleipnir"? Who cares that my teenage self wanted to name a horse that? Is it worth remembering? Do memories hold more weight when they are recorded simply because they are recorded? And then they become a literal weight to be held? What is life? What are we? Are we just a series of memories? If I forgot everything about myself, would I still be me? I hope I don't lose my self, lost my mind, lose my memories. What would I still be. I don't know. I don't know. Remember that movie, Regarding Henry? I remember that movie. He was a nicer guy, a better guy, after he lost all his memories. Was that the essence of who he was all along, or did he become someone else entirely? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.