You left dinner without getting up
Dinner is on the table. Your phone lights up. You don't answer it. You just turn it over, check who it is, read the first line, think about the reply, and miss the next three sentences the person opposite you says.
Technically, you're not working. Congratulations on the boundary.
There doesn't have to be a tyrant demanding this. Sometimes the message can wait until morning. Sometimes you know that perfectly well and still feel more comfortable checking than tolerating the possibility that somebody might want you.
Availability has become part of how you recognize yourself. Useful. Reliable. Needed. It sounds nicer than frightened of becoming temporarily irrelevant.
I'm not interested in announcing that everyone should throw their phone into the sea. Some calls matter. Some obligations are real. But if every interruption qualifies as an exception, what exactly is the rule protecting?
The food is getting cold. The person opposite you has stopped repeating the story. Nobody demanded that you leave dinner.