If anything happens it's in the liminal space, the small space between yes and no, the interims. Motivation and introspection and action takes place right here, in this epsilon, not as large and monumental events but the space between each keystroke and the points between each letter. It's all here. There are no grand sweeping gestures to make except for the little jabs at plastic tabs called typing.

Any thought that takes the form of "I wish I could dot dot dot (...)" is really this, shrouded in language that hints otherwise. The question is of granularity, resolution. The minimum unit of a resolution of action is a finger twitch, a minuscule quantum of resolve. Climbing up constructed from a series of muscle movements.