know what Mel and I did with memory. We ran our endurance dry with our life stories, trying to reproduce them, translate them, make them manageable enough to coexist with. We made them smaller, disfiguring them with our surgeries. We were young. We did not know what we were doing. I am protected by my forgetting: What I can recollect is subject to my own personal slash-and-burn, my inability to lay off. It is not in me to be able to leave well enough alone. Thank God I forget. Thank God.
