It’s 10 o’clock, or maybe some other time if the curfew is different there. Do you know where your phone is?
Yes. You do.
Because not too many things inspire as much panic when you realize they’re unaccounted for as your child, your body parts, or your phone. There’s a heart murmur in those initial seconds of a kind of heightened awareness reserved for actual emergencies.
I don’t mean you don’t know if it’s in the kitchen or the bathroom. I mean after you checked all those places, did the carseat thing too (nearly creating actual damage to your neck or wrist with that seat), and drove to some places around town. After all that. You’re back to the start of it all now. It’s decision time. Or maybe not. Maybe you put this off and see what it’s like for a day.
Maybe you make it through that first day, and the next, and the next. It’s a new level of seeing what it’s like.
Unplugged. Untethered. Disconnected. Unbatteried. It doesn’t matter what you call it. What matters is that you know what’s coming.
You’ve heard about it, this thing, being more present. But now you’re doing it. That heightened sense of where your arms, legs, nose, spleen, and ligaments are, and that they’re all intact? You feel like you could report on it. You also like it. After a few days, that feeling seems to include objects around you too. The room you’re in feels like it’s telling you something. You feel less detached from objects of your vision, like a radiator or a chair, which seem to communicate with your ears and some sense of balance you have too. Are you matching frequencies with the radiator because you’re paying attention to it like it’s your son when you don’t have your cell phone?
Dormant ways of knowing emerge.
On a drive one day, you wonder what else is going to come back — what else you stopped noticing back when the pixelating glow presented strictly to vision suppressed feelings that held you and your world together in a more balanced way, back before you pulled the technology over your own eyes. So you go sit down and wait for it all. Because you know it’s coming.
Sitting, maybe it’s evening and you’ve got time, enough days later to have stopped making a big deal about the number of days or even weeks, you feel yourself square at the center of this theater of the mind. And that space gradually becomes more available to your senses than it seemed when you first entered. The seat you took when you entered? You look down, and you are the seat. And then it’s coming attractions. They foreshadow what’s going to come up later, so pay attention, because you can turn back and leave if you want. You can go get that new phone and forget all this. Are your coming attractions comedies? Love stories? Fantasies? Genre-blurring docu-somethings? Straight up horrors? All of the above?