I sleep as late as I want to biologically. No stabs from digital alarms, please.
Let go of time for a time.
Spend minutes opening my eyes. Further minutes feeling the sun. I pick up a book kept close and read a chapter slow.
First time in awhile.
Slower, better. I am getting more done by not going as fast.
Then... I open iTunes. Tokyo Police Club? I should download all their stuff. Skype chirps. did you get my email? No, let me check after-Facebook- wall post I'd like to bury under a good link, what can I find that's entertaining enough for my... friends? My breathing shortens. I let the music turn off searching for youtube music videos to share with strangers, hope the strangers like it so they like listening to what I say I listen to...as I sit in my bed in silence. My perfectly long day begins to thin out, but I catch myself.
The things I need to do, need to be done slowly.
The tools I have to manipulate this machine aren't yet in rhythm with my body or my mind.
But not now.
I am at the border between two kinds of pace.
[two hours pass, I write again] Am I? Does the tech have anything to do with mental pacing? The mind fractures fine without digital aid. Friends enter the room, a conversation begins, food distracts. Gmail opens in response to a conversation. Fractures.
[an hour passes] when am I going to post this? By now there are enough mental applications running in the background, doing the same things to my sense of time and place as the 23 tabs in firefox that _a part of me knows_ are open on the other side of the room. A phone call with my sister seems jagged because I'm busy making notes to record the sensation later here for....