But I turned it off

It shrieked five times before the answerphone kicked in, soaking up whatever message had spilled into it. I should have answered it, jumped to it, sated its desire for connection, lifted the burden it was so eager to put down. I hesitated, teetering on the brink. A step forward, a step back; the telephone two-step. Then it beeped once, twice, the flashing yellow light summoning me. A question. A task. A signature. A request. Another bullet on a never ending to-do list. But I turned it off and sauntered into the playroom to skip-to-my-loo with abandon.