Days have just begun getting shorter.
A few years ago I discovered that there’s nothing special about the first of June.

There is something special about the twenty-first of June.

I always want to make summer solstice special.

It just passes.

Summer solstice is when you should go out and stay up all night. Watch the sun set over the lake. Watch it rise over the forest. Have a meal with your loved ones. Perform rituals. Go to sleep when the sun is already on its way up to the zenith. Wake up at noon. Have a cosy little feast. Enjoy a long siesta.

Evening time. You might do some work in the garden, even if it’s your digital garden.

Have a drink.

Turn the radio on.

It’s internet-curfew time already.

Do I want to go online?

I don’t know. Let’s find out.

Perhaps it’s best to keep the device stashed?

But what other way of testing myself is there?

Let’s unlock.

Only a few taps. A couple more scrolls.

That video was funny. Pretty mind-blowing, even.

What was it about again?

Bummer, the feed refreshed. I can’t go back.

I hope I stumble upon that account again.

The sun’s gone down.

Oh well.

I need to pee. Let’s check the For You page one last time before the bathroom break.

Should I bring my phone with me?

What if somebody calls?

Who? It’s almost midnight.

Just in case.

A friend might post an interesting story.

Rapid-fire flick-through.

Washing hands and watching a video about geopolitics.

The feed is running through me.

It would throb long after the flow stops. Lingering soreness. Enticing in its own way.

I’ve done it hundreds of times: set the machine down, introduced rules, enforced them.

Three days is all it takes, but then comes the “have I really gone off it?” check.

I’m there again with the machine in my hands. Just checking.

Is that what Sisyphus felt like?

It never occurred to him to just stop.

There are certain cycles we are empowered to sustain or break. There are others that trap us — those we have no influence over.

Do whatever you want — the solstice will come regardless.

The sun doesn’t need me to honor it.

I need it.