The Blue Pill, The Red Pill

Just before my brain shut down last night, I figured 13 hours. 13 hours in the world I chose to inhabit. I could have been lying in the sand absorbing light. I could have been sitting on my board, waiting for the next set to roll in. I could have been perched on the nose, watching the ocean spin by below me, beside me, above me. I could have been watching the pavement roll underneath polyurethene wheels, carving turns down hot blacktop, wind in my face. I could have been moving swiftly down a dusty trail, heart thumping, sweat running into my eyes and mouth. I could have been throwing the football in the pool with they boy, or encouraging the girl to kick kick kick, big arms, swim! A rugby ball. A container of bubbles yet to be blown. Bikes. A dog's leash. Lacrosse sticks. Sidewalk chalk. Instead, 13 hours spent in front of a screen, drowning in the torrents of a binary world, a construct built on 140 character bursts and pages and pages of instructions, opinions, "facts", "truth", a barrage of data like carbon dioxide working its way into my pallid skin.