Was a Diary, This
Paper. Precious paper. I feel I am committing an unforgivable crime even writing this. Crime is not the right word. Crime implies a moral code created by someone else that one must abide by. Sin, perhaps, is the correct replacement. “Sin” is going against the standards and life-sustaining choices I have consciously adopted to further my life goals. So, yes, it is a sin to be writing on this paper. What’s the expression — I paid an arm and a leg to procure this diary. It came from Earth — humanity’s home world. Those who are not born on Earth and have never visited do not know what paper is. For that matter, they don’t know what trees are, or wood pulp. Here, in the asteroid belt, all writing is electronic. For those who will read this diary — and I hope many hundreds of years from now this diary will get passed down from one hand to the next until even these words will start looking archaic and crazy to the reader — they will find a lot of gems like this expression, “pay an arm and a l