I think we need a break. It’s not you, it’s me…

I miss your sexy little curves
the way you’re so sensitive to my touch
God I love you in your sleek little black ensemble
and the noises you make are enough to make a girl
jump right out of her seat and to your side every time

But this my love, this is just too much.
I start to dream of your sounds, just ringing in my ears
I envision myself pressing all your buttons just right
and we go on for hours until you’re out of battery..
Oh how it devastates me when you turn off for the night

I know there are others, but they don’t know me like you do
they don’t know all the things I like to do
or who I talk to at odd hours of the night.
They don’t know my preferences for black and never white.

Why can’t I leave you alone?
I’ll admit, I am obsessed.
It’s like when you’re in the room
no one else exists

You are no good for me, no good at all
but you’re ringing louder and louder
oh dear God, please answer my call.

I forgot my phone as I was leaving my apartment a few days ago. I was carrying five bags of presents down two flights of stairs and into my car wearing a lovely dress and snow boots. I guess the phone was a minor detail. I remembered that I had forgotten it about a mile away from my house and decided that perhaps it was the Universe’s way of telling me to disconnect for a little bit.

Last time I tried to do that I went to this cabin in Wisconsin with no reception on my phone and on the drive back to the city I got a voicemail from a journalist at NPR who wanted to interview me about my response to the 20-something article New York Times came out with. Hopefully this time no one called from the New Yorker after stumbling upon my blog for a one time spot in the next issue or anything.

So I didn’t have my phone (I still don’t have it) and I can’t help but feel so present and in the moment. I’m not standing around mid conversation with someone a slave to the beeping on my phone telling me I have a text message or playing chess while I could be listening to real people around me.

It’s been good to be with people and wholly fully be there. Present and center. I start to think about how I need to change my relationship with my phone. I should turn it off more. I should put it away if I’m with other people and instead be present and in the moment. Why is that so hard?

I start to rethink how much power my phone has over me in waking life. Any message could be a missed opportunity to meet up with a friend who is in town for one night only or maybe that cute boy I met the other night has finally decided to call.

Then I realize that nothing is more important than being here now. This break with my phone has been good, somewhat accidental, but good. That is, if no one from the New Yorker called. :)

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