A skid.
Another crash.
And just like that, cut off.
Screen cracked. Phone dead.
No photos.
No Instagram.
No likes.
No podcasts.
No distractions.
No news.
No chat from home.
No maps.
Just me. My bike.
Sometimes Jamie.
But mostly me and my thoughts.
Three days of detox.
Restlessness. Anger.
Irritation. Boredom. Tears.
Are we nearly there yet, this is so boring!
Again and again catching myself reaching for my phone.
Is there a word for the feeling of catching yourself turning to do the thing which will relieve a feeling of discomfort, before the realisation that the discomfort stems from not having that thing?
Ah – addiction. That’s the word.
I’ll just check how far we have left to go… Oh I can’t.
I’ll just write down how I’m feeling. Oh I can’t.
I’ll just…
Oh.
Finding my unadulterated company utterly utterly tedious…
And then, because things never stay the same, everything is different.
I start to think.
I start to put together my life in the context of the words I’ve been imbibing.
I start to see my life – my past, my present – in the context of everything I’ve been immersing myself in lately. Climate change, capitalism, the patriarchy. I can see the cracks now. I can see the lies and I can not begin to see how I couldn’t see them before.
I’ve been thinking.
And there’s no going back now.