You're almost certainly reading these words on a glowing screen of some type. No judgment from me! I'm tapping these words out on my phone, of course.

I realized recently, though, how often I split my attention between my real-world children and this terrible infant in my pocket, always crying for attention. It is easy to develop a loathing for this thing of glass and metal and plastic for ruining our lives. But the reality is, my revulsion is really all about me and my inability to stop from looking. And self-loathing is not a great place from which to change.

So I began to play a game: What if I could reframe my need for a break into my phone's need for some time off? What if I could externalize my need for focus to the phone itself, to humanize rather than demonize it? And so, Naptime was born.

To make Naptime, I spent some time playing with digitally distorting tartan textures before I hit upon the obvious answer: if this game is about tucking away the digital, the art had to be analog. So I borrowed fabrics from my mother-in-law, cut hands out of cardboard, and took pictures of my own pillow. It was fun, and I hope it brings you a smile.

I want to call special attention to this vintage gingham, which belonged to my grandmother-in-law. The photo fails to capture the beauty of the silver threads that run through every seventh row of squares:

I want you to feel like you're tucking your device into a place of care, not because you actually love some piece of technology, but because you love yourself -- both the self that's chronically online and the self that needs respite. I hope this little game gives you some space to be kind to yourself.