I'm in transit to my last class of the semester today. The lightly flashing sun feels nice on my right arm. I'm going backwards.
I've been pondering my history with social media in the past year or so. I deleted both my Twitter and Instagram last year, which both had some sort of followings. I remember the day Instagram emailed me to tell me I was placed on the home screen for new users, as a suggested user to follow. "Watch as your following grow into the tens of thousands! If you decide you no longer want to be featured, click here." I let strange users follow me for a couple days and then pressed the link.
On a couple instances since, I tried dipping back into social media. I don't know what the problem is, but having a personal account feels more and more strange and unnatural. I think "personal" might be key. I realized last time, even though it was a personal account, I was somewhat playing a character—"Roomba Ghost," or @roombaghost, my username. My avatar was a white roomba with two fuzzy black dots—its eyes. I liked thinking about the link between life and technology through this not alive (but also not dead) robot.
Speaking of roombas and the maintenance of domestic space, my only resolution this 2018 was to create a reading nook in my home. I wanted an extremely comfortable place that would make it easy to be off screen, or at least offline.
I would say my reading nook is about 60% done. The first step was a new rug (medium pile!), followed by a comfortable (but not too comfortable... ) reading chair. ("You will end up dying of comfort" [echoes](http://www.bopsecrets.org/CF/graffiti.htm) in the background...)
Ever since my chair arrived, I sometimes pretend my room was an airplane. I'm not sure if I've completely convinced myself yet, but I do go along with the dream, it feels good. I do this by turning off my wifi, should I be using my devices, when I enter my room. I also turn on my fan for some white noise, pointing it away from me. I think it's good to start enacting ritual around the bedroom in particular, especially today with screens plaguing our every waking hour.
Casey once said that we'll be the last generation who read on screens, known as the generation with the worst eyesight. Sometimes I wonder what I'd do if I went blind. Could I still design? Could I still teach? Could I still write?
As I talk to more people, I sense a collective desire to spend less and less time on screens and more and more time in the sun, wind, and water. We want to be slower too. It seems we want to be plants. We could probably learn a lot from them. If a plant had a social media account—would it be boring or interesting? Or equally boring and interesting ... that healthy balance?
(I listened to *Pavilion of Dreams* by Harold Budd, from 1978, while writing this post.)