I have grown weary of these technologies which have become our everything. They have put in place new daily rituals, more sacred than prayer. This plate of glass, these intricate pixels: they have become the first thing I see in the morning, the last thing at night. At nine o’clock, ten, twelve, half-past three. And when sleepless at night it is there. Connected, but desolate within. I enjoy the interactions with others, the sharing of thoughts, virtual smiles, news, new friends – and old. Without it there is loneliness. Yet to be alone is a battle cry: to disconnect, to withdraw, to walk away. To seek refuge in recitations in a quiet place. To rediscover a good book gathering dust. This plate of glass and aluminium has supplanted an ordinary life, leaving migraines and regret in its wake. In truth, I wish there was a delete key for what I have become.