Although these zeroes and ones constitute computational wonders, they do little to answer my question. In my searches, I found anything but a concrete image. In its place was the fragment: illusory, transient, incomplete. Technology has allowed me to amass these fragments in incredible sums: a conversation here, a record of purchases there, text messages in-between. As disparate parts, they languish amongst seemingly random data, ostensibly about me. One could say that the sheer amount of data about us represents the death of memory. Why should I care to remember what I did a year ago today if I know that all this information is being meticulously recorded?