I broke my phone on Thursday.
Dropped it into the sink (no, not full of water), & gave the damn thing an aneurysm. If I had the headphones plugged in, I could answer calls, but the screen was stone dead.
No making calls, no social media, no blog, no pictures, no texting.
Oh sure, I was able to log into my social media & blog on my laptop, once I got home…
But any texts I had on my phone are looong gone. None of that saves to the cloud.
So, yesterday, I filed an insurance claim, & my new phone was delivered today.
A trip to the anxiety – ridden & claustrophobically populated mall later, & said replacement was up & running.
3 hours of updating & re-downloading all the apps I had before (nope, still don’t have it all back the way it was), & I’m once more feeling marginally more in control of my life again.
Fast forward to now…why aren’t I sleeping?
Fucked if I know.
All I know, is that my nerves feel scraped raw, I’m on the verge of tears, & I’m pretty sure at least part of this is from having gone more than 24 hours without my phone.
Yes, I have no trouble admitting it. I depend on my phone. I don’t have a landline in my house. I actually thought about everything this little box does for me, & it’s awe-inspiring.
It’s a clock, alarm, phone (derp), address book, calender, shopping list, magazine, television, news source, encyclopedia, dictionary (for those spelling emergencies), timer, level (yes, I have a bubble level on my phone, & yes, I’ve used it), flashlight, house alarm system, bank, radio, diary (like, right now), camera, photo album, instant messenger, TEXTS, blah, blah, blah… in short, as I told my supervisor on Friday “it is the sum of human knowledge. ..and I DON’T HAVE IT!”
I felt like Gollum wringing his hands & crying about tricksy hobbitses & his precious.
And now, I have my replacement phone.
I should be sleeping.
But anxiety doesn’t work like that.
So, I’m up, & over thinking Every. Damn. Thing.
Aaagh.
Brea's Air 