The warm green tea soothes my throat as I sit alone at the table tonight, opening @Facebook and mindlessly scrolling a bit, before closing it and opening @Instagram and mindlessly scrolling a bit, before closing that and opening @twitter X and mindlessly scrolling a bit, replying to the odd MAGA post with a few memes, before closing it and opening @TikTok to see if anyone interesting was live and finding no one, closing that and opening @YouNow and finding no one, closing it and opening @YouTube and mindlessly scrolling a bit, playing a video for a bit while scrolling other recommendations and then watching something else before switching to another recommendation for a bit before jumping to another recommendation, my channel surfing for the digital age.

I stare at my hand awhile, the areas I’ve picked at appear more menacing but under normal daylight conditions one can observe redness flowing across the canvas that lies just below the surface of my skin. It looks painful but oddly enough it’s not. The look of my right hand is similar to the look of my lower legs, only my legs are worse: bigger patches of skin removed, with slight swelling here and there. And little physical feeling in terms of pain, just the draining emptiness of the depression that lives inside.

This was originally posted on Flickr and Instagram.

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