First, look at your computer for a while from a distance. You don’t actually plan on going to sleep so you might as well tap out something. After losing all of your lives on Candy Crush: Soda Saga, cross the fucking carpet between your bed and your desk and fetch the computer that’s already too hot to have in your too hot bed because it’s 10:30pm and still too hot to do anything with anything over room temperature. Recline with the computer on your stomach. Unrecline. Recline with the computer on a pillow on your stomach. Attempt to write a blog. Hate yourself for whatever mystery food keeps doing this to you. It’s definitely the cheese. But since when has cheese had a deep-seated hatred against your innards? Which cheese? Why, fromage, why? You’re now typing on your side. Your head is flat and your hands block your view of the words you type. It’s more romantic this way maybe. Like you’re just thinking and these awkward digits are simply moving in a gentle tandem. No physicality, just mentality and a little tiny spider dance. Now you’re watching these little spider fingers. The light from the screen casts gentle diffused finger shadows on the keys. Each hand dancing with its shadow partner, but always glancing across the keyboard. Bs and Ys and numbers and expl&t*ves pull the two hands get close; they’re almost aware of their proximity and their mutual use for the space bar. Left hand refrains most often, however. It is afraid to venture. Though they do not touch, they were born to be together. In a silent little language, they call to each other: “Capitalize this one for me, will you?” “Shift it—I’ve gotta run to find the exclamation point again.” They dance in perfect harmony; synchronized waltzes upon complicated rhythms. Though a one-handed word may tap fastest, the words most beautiful are the ones of gentle duet. Of intercourse. That’s a good one. INtercOUrse. Right, left, right, left. Sharing the word’s work. Next time I’m picking teams, I’m picking my own two hands. And then the cheese. My stomach can go on the other team; the cheese is obviously too much for it to handle.