Third thing

There’s a third thing between me and my keyboard, or perhaps between my mental representation of the keyboard I’m typing on and the actual keyboard itself, which seems to me to be utterly unreachable by anything answering to the description “me.” I feel as if the thing I think of as “I” is trapped in an inestimably small space. Or rather, that the “I” is itself a space, a sort of strip of touch sensation with a hemisphere of sight sensation around it, along with a sphere of sound sensation. Interposed between this strangely shaped sensorium and the world is a third thing. I have reason to believe that this third thing is time.