i woke up this morning with the rare occasion of my neck not hurting hella much. to celebrate, i spent the first three hours of my morning reading the news until my eyes felt like they were going to shrivel in their sockets. getting distracted by the internet is my favorite way to sabotage my writing and creativity. instead of adjusting my eyes to the mountains or greenery that are right outside my window, i fertilize my fear and anxiety by learning about the latest political outrage. rather than daydreaming or exploring the seeds of my ideas, i read other peoples’ thinkpiece about how problematic the latest sci-fi series that i haven’t watched is. before the morning dew has evaporated, i have primed myself to lift my head, squeeze my eyelids tight, and let out a deep, exhausted sigh. thank god for this technology, this access to information. what else would i do if i didn’t point my attention on any given tuesday to the dilemma faced by fruit bats of south america? or the horrific tweets sent by a congressperson in a state i’ve never been to? all these poems never given their linebreaks, these beats never laced with their melodies, these thoughts never released into text. instead, i can recall stories in zoom conversations that go something like “i read…i forgot where…that someone…i forgot who…said something…i forgot what exactly.” tis the best kind of nostalgia, the reminiscences of short-term memory loss, of brain overload, of poring over reams of headlines only to hold what i’ve learned in my tense shoulders. to know everything about the world, but nothing of myself – it’s so much easier to label this as a due paid to society, rather than squandering life in the selfish act of self discovery.