I must have a really bad memory. I read things I write here that I can’t remember ever thinking or happening at all. I don’t even remember to look here that often – it’s such a strange little place to hide things I’m writing. I always write that I’ll remember next time and find this and re-read it and add to it, but I can’t remember ever doing it. It is me, though. Unless someone else called Rodney McKay is writing here. Rodney McKay. I think it sounds like a me-name. There’s letters after my name too, and sometimes I write those and then explain what they all mean because they’re important. They were hard to get.
So. I’m Doctor Rodney McKay and I think I’m from Canada. I don’t know where Canada is, though. Only that I had cable and a cat. Maybe more than one cat – because I never know what colour her fur was. It’s always a she. Always female cats. I have no idea why they are always female but apparently they were. Maybe I didn’t like male cats.
I think I remembered more at one point. There is no way to tell how far apart all these entries are, so it’s hard to tell when things happened other than in the order they come. If they are even real at all and not someone’s idea of a joke. If it is, I don’t think it’s a very good one. If my memory is that bad it isn’t my fault.
I should write what I can remember though, instead of dwelling on what I can’t. There are lots of memories already in here and I should add to them what I know I know because that seems to be what I do most of the time.
I remember this morning being woken up and getting ready and going to the room with all the equipment. I can’t remember properly how it works, but I know how to work it. Apparently I remember that all the time. It seems to be the only constant through all these notes, so it must be important. I know it’s part of some big project which will be wonderful when it’s finished. At one point I think I even knew why.
The food is terrible. That much I know for a fact. Is food supposed to move like that? I don’t think so. I think I would remember if it was always that horrible. I mean, if it was, I wouldn’t be disgusted by it, would I? Because it would be all I ever knew. Or maybe it just always has been horrible and I’m just strange for not liking it. I asked the man who brought my food but he just ignored me and told me to finish it all.
I should describe my room because I haven’t done that very often and I only checked a few entries into this, so if I check randomly I have more chance of being able to compare rooms. Well, it isn’t hard. It’s mostly just grey, boring, straight edges and hospital corners on the bed. Hospital corners? Did I work in one at some point? It’s possible. I could be the caring type. Maybe that’s what I’m working on – some medical procedure? It’s entirely possible. Otherwise, why would I be working on it?
I work with someone else. He did give me his name but it slipped my mind and it’s rude to ask. Maybe I ask him every day? Anyway, he was very nice, but not one for talking so mostly I was left working and occasionally he’d come and change a few things I got confused.
Apparently there’s a war going on. It’s vitally important we win. Doesn’t everybody say that, though? No one really fights a war without thinking they need to win, do they? Maybe when we win I can stop working on this thing. I could be making a weapon, too. Actually, that’s probably more likely. I seem to be the kind of person you don’t want to trust people’s health to, because I can’t even remember who I am. It’s probably for my own good that I’m in here. I mean, if I can’t even remember where I work, how would I survive?
Maybe my family are all dead. I know I’ve mentioned them before. When I think about them… I think I feel numb. Not the numb from nothing being there, but… I don’t know. Maybe I never knew them. They never made an impression on me anyway.
I should stop writing this soon. I’m hungry and it probably means someone will bring more of that horrible food back. Apparently I tried refusing the food a few times and it didn’t go well. The entries afterwards never seemed to remember what happened though.
I wish there were windows. I can’t remember if I like big fields and trees but I think at some point I must have. Green grass and blue skies and a… dog? Yes. A dog. But there are no windows here. The man who brought me back here before said there have never been any windows in here, because there’s nothing to see. Are they all gone, I asked him. No, he said. They’re just not outside here.
I’ll dream of them, though. I dream of cats and dogs and fields and… flat-screen something or others… There was a ship, somewhere, too. But it wasn’t one with sails, it was one that travelled through the stars. I like my dreams. I always dream in colour. Maybe I wanted to be a painter… But I don’t know if I can even draw.
I’ll close this now, for when I next get bored and look for things. Maybe I could ask the man who brings my food for some paint. I think I would like the room more if it had paint.