22 hrs after a deadline, 40 minutes before take off sitting in front of gate nr. 161.
Wednesday, 8th of November 2056.
Date of my departure from this 3D land, the interweb says so.
I am checking another site, the result is: 29th of June, 2047. I stop checking.
Stretched between data, numbers, characters, symbols, information I am aware of the need of locating oneself in the spacetime fabric.
I am aware. But am I interested in locating \ defining?
Transformation happens on it's own accord. I respect that. The universal machinery just works fine. Doesn't need me to fix things or to improve stuff. But I am happy to do the daycare, to change diapers, do the shopping or art.
Observing the air passing through my nostrils, the skin of my palms touching and sensing the plasctic chair, my back giving its wait to the backrest. Am I being autistic or somatic now?
My body has to be transported now elsewhere... it is boarding time.