The Unattainable Line.

Awoken by the 2nd guess. Too early. A lunchtime meeting, autopsied while sleeping. The subconscious to blame. But now very much conscious, awake even.

A body half dressed for working at this hour. Only the cat to judge my appearance and his mood was recently bought with half a tin of rejected corned beef.

Collected the context from Slack after a 1am push. Found the mail from Hockey and installed. Mood does not improve as first run falls over. Were those messages not communicated? Should I have been more clear?

Surely, but surely, stability is the requisite and we go from there.

Sign off my feedback with ‘this cannot happen when I am seeing Mr X. I will look like a prize twat’.

Ask if we can catch up later for ‘next steps’?

The unattainable line.

A simple fix was all it took. Simple is as simple does. A break from the screen, a run and a lift. A cheeky 5km in 32min shift. A clear out of the brain. Mr Brain.

So now.

Dropped boxes be syncing and Octocats be appearing in feeds. A sight more pleasing that treats under the Christmas tree these days. Multi-integrations.

A wonderful plugin brings crisp translation in unquarrelable red lines. No need for panic as we are in good time. Tweaks is all and let me know, if these helpfully red lines, they fail to show.

We sign off the day with a Medium scribble. Better to document than to dabble in forgetfulness. Smiley faces in appearance and mentions of where pixels should be placed; Perfection is key apparently. Tru be dat.

A new morning.

The sequence of Mail > FB > TWTR > Slack. Will save ‘The Gram’ for a later throne visit — when I can truly appreciate those naturally snapped filtered 512's.

Newsfeed presents familiar first sights. A bewildering mix of waterfallian streams, a shiny made vlog about Austin Mahones Sneaker Dreams. Liking MTV has a lot to answer for.

A sacrificial album hovers in a sponsored state. Glimpses of the exciting, awesome and delighted. A day you missed no doubt, hence the point. A click is steered as ones nose has grown accustomed to mood spoilers.

We pick up the tale mid Sunday.

A multi-tab, chrome supported day of rest. News of Meerkats being kneecapped by big birds in the press. A worrying scenario for any small carnavorian. Let’s hope they find strength in the numbers they seek — Periscopio vision might be needed in seems.

The 42in screens a Premier match up. The boys in blue led by the Special One, pepper the goal at The Shed End. Unreadable oscillating sponsorships fence in the assets.

We finish the day on a chat with my maker. She is convinced Clarkson is a wally. I am convinced £14m a year is a heavy load but his previous debacles grant him no favors in the fracas. I tell her of the the outrage on Twitter and the escalations of petition.

There is wisdom in the pause and then I am given;

“I’m starting to think this Social Media is more trouble than its worth” — Mum.