I like to consider myself a gal of modernity with a nostalgic appreciation for the days of old. Do I wish I could’ve been born in ‘55 so that I would have rocked a bouffant and pastel cotton dress? Of course. Do I also wish that I could be a secretary clacking away in shorthand until I found myself a gent who could buy me a house on the Hudson? Sure, but really no. Feminism and such.
I tried to resist the madness of smartphone brain takeover. My favorite phone of the last 22 years remains the plastic one that came with Mystery Date.
Nonetheless, I found myself approximately 13 hours, 15 minutes and 7 seconds ago squatting at Rumsey Playfield in Central Park, crying my face off in front of friends and employees alike because I had lost a 5 inch piece of technology (and the great, $9 case that protected it).
There was a moment, as I slowly sunk to my knees in despair, kneeling on the soaking (from rain, not yet my tears) turf, that my brain very basically stopped functioning. I like to imagine that it rolled its eyes Liz Lemon style at my dramatic tears, crossed its brain-mattery arms and walked away from the situation, mumbling, “I’m too old for this shit.”
I cried on the subway, crammed between two young women playing with their phones. I unlocked my apartment, saw my roommate was gone, and let out a childish whine of tears. I sat at my computer simply to feel the comforting glow of technology. I Skyped with my mom at 1am, whining things like, “I just hate the lack of control!” and “I mean, it’s like my whole life was on that phone.”
As I went to bed, I fumbled with my decorative retro alarm clock, unsure of how to turn the alarm on.
And then, I slept the most peaceful 7 hours and 40 minutes that I’ve had in a long time. There were no vibration buzzes coming from my bedside table. No glowing lights filling the room at 4am. No worry that I hadn’t hit “Sleep!” on my alarm clock so that it could measure how long and well I would sleep, then wake me up at what it thought was the best time for my body but which is always the worst.
I woke up and resisted the urge to roll over and check my email, check in on Foursquare as “Awake @ the Heights!”, puzzle over how to beat my dad in 5 different games of Words with Friends, scroll through Instagram, then check four different weather sources for the most accurate report possible.
I took a shower. I wrote a sketch. I started a blog (you’re welcome).
My brain might very well still be on vacay, getting grayer out at the brain beach, only to return when he can see the Empire State Building peek through cloudy skies with the most exquisite filter and give it a “<3”.
But, because there’s nothing better to do to deal with the disappearance of my phone-child, I’ll embrace this detox and sit here in my towel for a little bit longer.