Thursday, October 19, 2006

What it was like for me without my phone this past Mon-Wed

My heart starts pounding. I can feel my palms sweating, even though my hands are cold. "Am I missing a call from my daughter's school? A text from my friend? A potential job interview?" Questions race through my head. Fears escalate. Frantically, I hope beyond hope that my sister is home from work today and on her computer. I need to go to her house, I think. I need to get to a phone.

I pack the kids into the mini-van. My daughter is bewildered because she had only gone out to play not long before. "Mommy, you said I could play...! Where are we going?"

"Mommy needs to get to a phone, honey. We're going to your Aunt's house. I gotta make some calls," is the only response I am coherent enough to formulate.

I crank the music for distraction, and get carried away in Les Miserables. "There's a grief that can't be spoken. There's a pain goes on and on. Empty chairs at empty tables, where my PHONE is dead and gone...," I sing. Oh NO! I can't escape the madness. Switch songs.

"Take my hand, and lead me to salvation! Take my love, for love is everlasting. And remember the truth that once was spoken: To love another person is to see the face of god!" Whew! I make it through that song. No tears, no heartache.

Moments later we're at my sister's. I get on her phone and call my husband. He's working on the situation, and encourages me to find the dipstick who's screwing us over and kick him, HARD. I have a new task, an address, a phone number for the dipstick. I have focus. I'm on a mission. I proceed with my duties diligently. With the help of my sister's phone I actually speak with the dipstick. He's apologetic yet also makes excuses. My children are witness to sailor-speak. They wonder why their mommy has such an animalistic glaze in her eyes.

Dipstick promises payment and I settle down. The fury retreats, and I'm left with the return of the anxiety. Later in the evening I feel beaten down, broken. "I'm never gonna get my phone turned back on," I lament. The night before me seems long and unending.

Just at a moment when I actually am not looking at the phone, I hear the Arrested Development theme song play. What? Where? HUH?!? That's my phone! What's going on? I search desperately, finding my phone within the folds of my blanket. It's my husband calling me! And with that, he saves the day. The phone is back on. The anxiety from before completely washes away, that quickly. I'm at peace. "Come with me, where chains will never bind you. All your grief, at last, at last behind you..." :)

7 comments:

Sideon said...

"To love another cell phone is to hear the sound of... voicemail."

Why doesn't MY cell phone ever stay silent? Oh wait. It does. I rarely turn it on.

**grumble**

Christy said...

*swoon*! You're quoting Les Mis, and I have the whole damn thing memorized... all 3+ hours. Next time we get together, care to duet?

Sister Mary Lisa said...

I liked this post, you were very creative here. I love how well you describe your feelings of angst.

dfb said...

I thought you were just ignoring me. Sorry for the evil things I thought about you.

Arizona Expositor said...

It's amazing how dependent we are on technology for everything, I would be lost without my phone, email, or anything else digital.

Rebecca said...

What production is your "Les Mis" CD from? The international version has this AWESOME little songy part that the Broadway version doesn't have (not sure whether or not the London version has it). It's one of my ALL-TIME FAVORITE lines of music, and my f***ing copy doesn't have it. Blah. It's towards the end, right before Cosette come to see Valjean, and he sings, "Alone I wait in the shadows, I count the hours till I can sleep..." it's about 8 lines long, and totally perfect.

Other than that, "Les Mis" sucks. *sigh* Okay, no, it doesn't. But it's still deadly theatre (that's in a high-pitched yell, as I wave my arms in a crazed frenzy and look around with wild eyes)!

PS: I'm commenting about your phone.

Bishop Rick said...

Did you ever find your remote?