This morning I cleaned out my closet. Picked through my shirts, sorted, hung on new hangers, discarded for the Thrift store. Then I cleaned my desk. Shuffled through papers, wrote some checks, put them in envelopes, affixed stamps. Organized the piano books on top of the piano and then played a bit. Washed out the oatmeal pot, cleaned out the refrigerater, chopped some vegetables and got some soup started. After a couple of hours of touching fabric, paper, ivory keys, wood-handled knives, water, vegetables, I was buzzing with tactile pleasure, satisfied with the look of three-dimensional clothes neatly hung and organized, papers tucked into the letter organizer, books stacked atop the piano, condiments lined up in the refrigerator.
It feels okay to arrange my files on my laptop desktop, but it’s just not the same. The virtual world is…well, virtual: “existing or resulting in essence or effect though not in actual fact, form.” This morning I touched real things that had weight, texture, color, shape, form. I was happy without machines.
And then I turned on the laptop to write this blog.