My phone took a trip to LaCrosse without me on Saturday and I’m trying not to take it personally.
She buried herself in the passenger seat of my friend’s car and enjoyed a nice little road trip. It took me a while to figure out where she had gone.
I felt a little frantic when I noticed she was missing and I may have dialed her number a time or 37.
She did not respond. I think she needed her space.
I probably needed mine too, but I was too busy trying to figure out how to manage my life for the 20 hours she was gone to realize it. I may have become a touch too attached.
Clingy, some would say.
I spend all day with my phone and I keep it near me at night. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I do what everyone tells us not to and I pick up my phone and scroll.
Often, after a night like that, we both wake up with low batteries. She tracks my steps and deals with my grubby, sweaty hands all day. I think about how gross her life might be, especially when I spit polish her lenses with a corner of my T-shirt.
So, I guess she earned her escape and it seems she enjoyed it. Not so much for me. I’d love to tell you how Zenly I responded to our forced separation and how it led to a welcome burst of creativity and mindfulness. But, no. No sir it did not.
I mildly panicked and briefly lost my mind.
I strapped on a camera and contemplated hauling my laptop with me as I made my way throughout the day. How else would I provide photographic evidence of every mundane detail of my life? Or, Google every random question that popped into my head. Or, check in with my social media sites? Or read the news? Or check my email? Or track my fitness? Or listen to my podcasts? Or TALK TO MY CHILDREN?
I plugged back in the landline that I had disconnected during the campaign season and was immediately rewarded with a phone call urging me to check the warranty on my vehicle, and then another asking me to donate to a sketchy benevolent society. I unplugged it again.
Then I unplugged me, took a deep, cleansing breath and … I mean, I tried. I sang along to the car radio, chatted with my husband, located a real clock to figure out the time of day, stepped outside and noted the weather for myself, enjoyed a face-to-face conversation with a neighbor.
But, truthfully, I need my phone. I don’t like being out of the loop. I like the convenience of holding the world in the palm of my hand.
Saturday night, following our joyous reunion, I set my phone facedown and vowed not to bother it until morning.
I almost made it.