Nobody has called me in four days. Since my boyfriend and I broke up, I have not been surprised NOT to feel my cell phone vibrate and see it flash those expectant lights on the photo-display (a side note: I hate it when people pretend they don’t know it’s you calling—your name is flashing right in front of their eyes!). To add insult to injury, he dumped me, so I had to be very careful to never have my cell phone on hand during those terrible urges to call him up. They call it Drunk Dialing, though I can’t see why. Apparently in Japan you can hire a service that will block certain numbers when you activate the phone with a breathalyzer, or some nonsense. Japan is so cool. But I digress.
My actual point is that nobody has called me in four days. Not a soul. I called my doctor on Monday, and she called me back, but that wasn’t a social call. Inherent in this troublesome fact is not a sense on my part that my friends don’t like me—they do, very much. We spent a lot of good time together over the weekend. We email all day long at work. My friends like me just fine, and I return their affection openly and without reservation. My issue is this: if I have a phone and it is always with me and always on, will I ever feel that I am not supposed to talk on it? And, perhaps more importantly, is it possible that I could go through my entire life, weaned off these machines of connectivity, and never talk to people I actually know ever again.
This started after my boyfriend dumped me (did I mention that he dumped me?) and I, for the first time in my life, did not do the “HoneyIloveyousomuchtakemebackIwantyoursexholdme likeyoudidbythelakeonNaboo” phone-thing. I didn’t. (
Ed. Note: Warning: I cheated...now.) I calmly called to see if we could discuss our plight (answer: yes; outcome of conversation: not so good), and I haven’t spoken to him since. I attribute this entirely to the fact that I am seeing a psycho-therapist and to my friends, who have kindly taken turns babysitting me as a spin riotously out of control. Also, to the cable TV/air conditioning at the bar-restaurant-wannabe late 90s dance club down the street form my apartment, and to the invention of reality television, and to People Like you who support Public television.
But this really started four days ago, when people stopped calling me. Maybe I jump the gun and call them. I do this to my parents constantly, though they make it very clear that they are way cooler than I am by forcing my friends to watch Chinatown in our den. Several of my friends are out of town, so that could bring the percentage of people down a notch. Some plans were laid in stone via email on Friday afternoon after work had become, shall we say unbearable. I got some emails and text messages. Just a few, nothing severe. I made several calls. Left some messages.
But I have broken up with the phone. In my desperation to find myself superior to now ex-boyfriend, I decided that the Phone was bad. If he didn’t call me, that was his loss. I was obviously the mature one. I turned it off for several days. Now, I leave it in my purse instead of plugging it in. I leave it at home when I go out. Because to me, Phone began to represent everyone who didn’t call, who didn’t care, who didn’t like me, or who wanted to buy my best friend a suit instead of fall in love with me. So I broke up with the phone. Phone is less beautiful to me now as she was three weeks ago, and for that I am sad. It’s like kicking junk, only way less hard. I don’t even freak out when people call people in front of me, that’s how over it I am.
Then again, I did just post this on the internet.
