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Thursday – Oh, no. Hello?
Sep. 16th, 2010 11:26 am.
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I don't have the same relationship with my cell phone that most people do. Most people seem to be seriously committed to their cell phone and go through withdrawal if it goes on the blink or goes missing. For years, my relationship with my cell was casual to non-existent. For starters, I didn't consider it so much a tool for other people to reach me as I considered it a tool to reach other people, and only if I felt like it. Some days it would stay in my car plugged into the battery charger, and I wouldn't miss it at all. I didn't even look at it every day. I might notice the blinking light telling me I had a voice mail message two days after one had been left for me.
That has changed since my son started school. Now I keep my cell phone next to my heart. Literally. It is tucked into my bra at this moment. The clip to wear it on my waistband is lost, because I never cared to wear it on my waistband, anyway, so I tossed the clip into a drawer a long time ago and have since forgotten which drawer that was. It's uncomfortable in my pocket and, besides, things fall out of pockets. My purse, its traditional home, is not close enough to me at all time. I might get up for a cup of coffee or to go to the bathroom and not hear it when it rings. Even when my purse is close, it muffles the ring. I can't risk that; I must hear the ring and respond immediately, because it might be urgent. God only knows what is happening at my son's school.
When it rings, my heart beats faster and I stop breathing. I have come to loath this thing I keep right next to my heart. How can something so small weigh me down like a ball and chain?
( If The Phone Doesn't Ring, It's Me. )
.
.
I don't have the same relationship with my cell phone that most people do. Most people seem to be seriously committed to their cell phone and go through withdrawal if it goes on the blink or goes missing. For years, my relationship with my cell was casual to non-existent. For starters, I didn't consider it so much a tool for other people to reach me as I considered it a tool to reach other people, and only if I felt like it. Some days it would stay in my car plugged into the battery charger, and I wouldn't miss it at all. I didn't even look at it every day. I might notice the blinking light telling me I had a voice mail message two days after one had been left for me.
That has changed since my son started school. Now I keep my cell phone next to my heart. Literally. It is tucked into my bra at this moment. The clip to wear it on my waistband is lost, because I never cared to wear it on my waistband, anyway, so I tossed the clip into a drawer a long time ago and have since forgotten which drawer that was. It's uncomfortable in my pocket and, besides, things fall out of pockets. My purse, its traditional home, is not close enough to me at all time. I might get up for a cup of coffee or to go to the bathroom and not hear it when it rings. Even when my purse is close, it muffles the ring. I can't risk that; I must hear the ring and respond immediately, because it might be urgent. God only knows what is happening at my son's school.
When it rings, my heart beats faster and I stop breathing. I have come to loath this thing I keep right next to my heart. How can something so small weigh me down like a ball and chain?
( If The Phone Doesn't Ring, It's Me. )
