In grade school, you would sit at the old wooden desk. Well worn down by the passing generations of students who sat there before you. You scribbled on notebook paper, possibly in pencil, rarely in pen, a sweet affection. Passing notes, she blushed, you giggled. It was all so innocent and organic.

Then life happened and years passed.

Well beyond those grade school days. Sitting, standing, anywhere. The lithium-ion, globally connected input device, that sparkles like the dreams you used to have, just waits for you in hand. It’s patient, knowing in moments, you will feed it your soul.

Your formative years programmed you for this.

Rewarded then, imprisoned now.