How unhinged
how quickly
I become unmoored
without the glowing pacifier
of a smartphone.
How dependent I've become
on external stimulation
on haptics
vibrating my wrist
on screens flashing
self-important notifications.
On note apps to scribble
on reminders to plan errands
on clock app to set alarms
on calendar apps, plural,
to make
— and break —
commitments.
But this evening
it is just
Me
my brain
this journal
my pen
and my
cramping writing hand.
Fully analogue;
partially hinged.
Poet, writer, photographer and slightly distracted day-dreamer who muses on (gestures at everything) from the petty to the profound. On a semi-serious, fully earnest search for meaning in the mayhem. Perimenopausal, melanin-deprived, irony-enhanced recovering perfectionist Type A+ millennial woman. She balances the ever-continuing quest to Know Better/Do Better, with the distinct ego-death of parenting a smart, full-throated child who was raised to know the power of her voice. Mothering a teen means catching a side-eye in almost every interaction. Diana navigates the minutiae of everyday life through seeking the magical in the mundane. Follow along and laugh with her as the world flames out!
