WWTBD? (what would the bard do?)

There’s all sorts of new technology, but the truth is I’m in lurve with my own handwriting. Not the hurried hand that scribbles when my boss is running off at the mouth and I’ve become responsible for every small drivel, but the slower hand, the hand that writes at the rate of everyone’s mind. The art which I spent many years and many teachers perfecting still changes and evolves as I continue to add elements of people I admire. I have to say the most influential people on my handwriting have been my freshman through sophomore swim coach and my dad.
Dez, just Dez was awesome. She was a writer, she was a swimmer and funnier than that time Lisa scared the crap out of me in the middle of the night and I yelled like a ninny for 5 minutes while Lisa laughed her arse off. I’m not sure if I were to meet her again if she wouldn’t live up to my memory, like somehow when you go back to visit your childhood house and it doesn’t seem as spacious, the colors aren’t as vivid, the stairs leading to a plain old place. Dez was a great inspiration to me, I worked hard at swimming for her, not for me, or my team, but she believed in me and winning races is what I could do for her. But her hand written meet assignments with her crisp hand and precisely turned g’s and y’s. It revolutionized my learned hand from large bubbles to dot my I’s and bubbly y’s large print to a more refined, idea of where I wanted to go.
I’ve always admired my dad’s signature, you couldn’t read it to save your like, you could pick out a G, a K and a D, the rest were just lines laid out strategically and mystically. To which my signature slowly morphed from loops to a more dignified and unreadable name with a hint of the possibility of a belonging to a doctor, where you can pick out an A and a D but what’s in the middle? You can’t even find the J, that’s ok don’t worry about it; I’m not entirely defined by my middle name, nor it’s heritage. However, my heritage I do enjoy.
The life of my handwriting was really born in the beginning of high school in between freshman and sophomore year, maybe even on my 15th bday, that ‘s when the change was made, a new me a new hand. Sure there have been some adjustments to it, growing smaller, getting sloppier, but at the essence of all things it is still intact. Still distinctive. Still enjoyable. What happens when technology threatens to take it away from me? I find myself torn between the new technology, editing by hand, writing by hand and switching back to the computer. They’re interchangeable now, the computer and the hand.