notifications

My Fitbit warns me:

"You’re at risk of undertraining."

As if I want to run a marathon

next year. This is not the case.

I’ve been sitting so much

these last three days

that I am told to move.

My Tamagotchi brain abides.

Not long ago, I didn’t need

a notification. Not long ago,

no one needed a notification.

We just moved. Drank water.

Went outside—without prompt.

Survival required these things;

we innately wanted to live.

No one had to tell us—

we just did it.

Now I spend my time

complaining about the broken system

I continue to invest in.

Philip K. Dick’s emotion organ

is me, and I am it.