Thursday, September 26, 2013


my phone, still feeling smug

Recently, Alan’s supposedly smart phone stupidly died. His dad lent him a Nokia so old that the ‘Picture message’ folder was full of pixelated alarm clocks and flowers and aeroplanes. Though he was able to message and call people again, Alan whinged that he couldn’t email. He whinged about missing his phone so much that someone gave him their old smart phone. It’s a different brand to his one; now he whinges that he can’t figure out how to use it.

I wasn’t too sympathetic about the death of his phone; I thought he’d start being in the moment! and living life! without the temptation to continually check for updates on Facebook and and whatever-the-latest-addictive-game-is.

Now I just want him to have his bloody phone back.


If you want to bring back memories, check google’s image results for “old Nokia.”


I lost my wallet a few weeks ago, somewhere between Sydney and Adelaide airports. I should have expected something like that to happen – in the days leading up to our trip I’d been the epitome of scatterbrained. Knowing the vague state I was in, I sat down on the Friday before we left and wrote out all of the details we’d need for our trip: phone, reservation and flight numbers, addresses, names, and information about our hire car arrangements. I then folded up the piece of paper, put it somewhere safe, and immediately forgot where safe was. I still haven’t found it.

Anywho. I decided not to be too bothered by the discovery that my wallet was missing; I knew I had just enough emotional energy to get me through what was planned for the day, nothing more, so I couldn’t afford to spend any tears on the unplanned. A voice in my head told me kindly that it was all replaceable. Meanwhile, another voice continued to sing in the background, “I am going to make it through this weekend if it kills me.”

My sadness didn’t kick in until a few days after we’d returned, when it was clear my wallet wasn’t coming back. I don’t like change – even new-wallet-sized change. My old one was practically perfect in every way; a guy at the fruit shop once commented on how impressively simple it was, which was possibly the best compliment I’ve ever received. My new one is still small, but it has a zip where I’d prefer a button, and a three-fold instead of a two. I’m telling myself that pretty soon I’ll be able to hand over cards and cash without first staring at the wallet to figure out how to access them, and then, in 8 or so years’ time, I’ll be just as sad to see this one lost or stolen. 

Only 7 years and 11 and a half months to go. 


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