Monday, April 21, 2014

Apple of my Eye






We had just had our first-year anniversary, my iPhone and I. The phone’s wallpaper displayed my granddaughter's face. The music I had  amassed from iTunes was perfection, and I counted on it for my morning commute . Checking weather on the cute app was fun, and my bank balance was always within a moment’s  reach. Most likely, I was weeks away from the stage where one places her phone by the bedside in true corporate lady mogul fashion. How could I have been so careless?

It’s odd, I had actually been considering this dreaded possibility only hours before. You know – how you have those random thoughts when your mind is at rest? I had the thought, “wow, what would I do without my iPhone?”

I get a little scatterbrained and disorganized, and am often in a rush. My handbag is one of the more prominent places where I exhibit this behavior. My hand flails fruitlessly through the bag, wildly rifling its contents in the most uncomfortable, cringe-worthy manner that would give anyone watching, a serious case of the willies. 



I assumed my iPhone was in the bottom of said handbag. Or I left it on a merchant’s countertop. After one internal breakdown, several in-town inquiries to various locations, intense searches conducted by my husband in places such as the Ugg boots and tissue box in the back of my car and three complete ransackings of my purse, I conceded.  My iPhone had vaporized, self-destructed. 

*****

It has been a week. I’ve deduced that I probably left the phone in my accidentally unlocked vehicle. Or I dropped it and it got smashed by a passing car on Main Street. It doesn’t matter. I’m using my husband’s old Droid to fill the void, so I can at least maintain phone contact, but I miss my iPhone. A noted side effect is that I am slowly disconnecting. From phone calls, from Facebook, and I don’t read texts until  hours after they've been sent. I’m not constantly reaching for my tiny, black treasure. (To my friends: I’m still here, like a voice in the night - bear with me.)  It’s not as much fun to check the weather on an antiquated Droid. My hand still craves the touch, the feel, but the craving diminishes each day. Arianna Huffington and her campaign to “take it down a notch”  have nothing on me. She can chat up the media and discuss her perspectives on calm, quiet and spirituality with Oprah all she wants. She still has her iPhone. 


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