7.15: The alarm goes off. You look at your phone. Five emails since you closed your eyes and fell asleep last night – a record low for you. One text and three messages, mostly in the form of emoticons and never-ending, repetitive GIFs. But it’s 7.15 so you set a new alarm for 8.00 and decide to get up then.
8.00: The alarm goes off, again. One more email – nothing important. But what about the other three? Junk mail, sale offers, news subscription report. You haven’t even wiped the sleep from your eyes and you are already engaged in last night’s breaking news. Its 8.00. You’re still in your pyjamas, you’re still in your bed, and you’re already engaged in the world.
10.00: Breakfast was a blur. Did you have it? Were you solely sustained by the reading for this day’s seminar? For the afternoon’s lecture? No, the taste of burnt toast still lingers and you are now sure that breakfast had, in fact, occurred.
11.15: Your book lays face down – hardly read – in your lap. The cracks in its spine were there long before you ever opened it. In your hand your phone’s face dances with lights, four messages, a missed phone call, and two more new emails. How long is acceptable before you have to call a boss back?
11.40: You have replied to everyone. But everyone has replied back. There are still four unopened messages on your phone, an unanswered phone call, and two new emails. You pack the book away because you have a class at twelve, another at one, and another at two.
Its 2.15 and your mind is spinning. Your phone is flashing and your bag is growing heavy with the weight of unread pages and unfinished assignments.
Your phone flashes again. You open it to a GIF and circulatory video plays. It’s the image of girl. She jumps up; she jumps down. She jumps up; she jumps down. She jumps up; she jumps down.
The image is you.
Press pause to begin.