It is 4:40 in the afternoon. You have been staring at the same spreadsheet since lunch, and your eyes feel like someone rubbed sand into them. You blink hard, lean back, and notice a dull ache creepin...
It is 6:40 on a Tuesday evening. Dinner is twenty minutes from being ready, the younger one is melting down about a sock, and you hand over the tablet because you need eleven consecutive minutes to ch...
It's 7:40 on a Tuesday. The tablet has been on for what feels like twenty minutes and has actually been on for ninety. You say the words you've said a hundred times — five more minutes — and five minu...
