I RISE WITH the sun. Rays of light slip through closed blinds, caressing my cheek in a warm kiss. I ignore it in favor of blue light flashing from my phone, artificially red numbers urging me to click. I open the app. Someone liked my post. I swipe, scroll, swipe, scroll; where the last hour went, I don't know. I walk unsteadily towards the bathroom. Dull eyes stare back at me in the mirror. What is it about them that gets them so many followers? Pale, smooth skin; a prettier face; a flat stomach? I apply expensive makeup softened by asbestos. My kid brother walks in as I finish. What did you do to your face, he asks. It's for social media, I explain. He asks why.