BRITTICISMS

Tissues

How I use my phone as a alarm and how I leave it in the kitchen so I must crawl out of bed in the morning, dragging myself from the sheets, from the warmth, from the security of being in a place that is comfortable, true, and consistent. But also, how I leave it there because I must detach myself, even a little bit, from the technology that is more a part of me than any other tangible object. It is a small detachment. I write this in my bed, under a blanket, and trying to find some sleep after another night reading and wishing the stories on each page were slices of life rather than heady fantasies. The phone makes a sound. I hear it through my closed bedroom door. It is the loudest sound in the world to me right now.