Rootbound.

I woke at dawn. Mauve, foggy, longing to spin a paddle and drag myself through the waves. Pissed at engineers for their willful ignorance of human existence. For the cruel mythologies they write about life and communication. Ethics, gentlemen. Ethics. Your lives and the platforms you build should not be strangers. Where is the Hippocratic Oath of platform developers?

By ten, I was out of bed. Kimonoed. Down the stairs to finally fetch the Sunday paper.

Strong Ritual coffee in the press. Last of the brown sugar guava jam on toast. Languishing guavas out of their white paper sack and into the worn eggyolk yellow Le Creuset pot. Brown sugar guava jam for the new year. Sean Hayes is singing about true things.

I'm re-potting myself.