I was never a fan of the iPhone. From the moment iPod’s emerged I though Apple added and i and overcharged for their stuff, but I just found a reason to love the iPhone. I’ve confessed before that sometimes in the middle of the night I hide in the bathroom and play Ruzzle on my hubby’s iPhone. I have been so depressed and overwhelmed by my life that sleep rarely comes to me. My brain won’t shut down because it’s too busy to making lists of the things I need to get done, the bills I need to get paid, the conversations I need to have but avoid… I could go on, but long-story-short for months I would stare at that stupid little screen until the light made my eyes tired enough to finally close them. The one night I tip-toed to the bathroom only to find Ruzzle had been deleted.
It didn’t rock my world or anything, it’s just a stupid game I used to count sheep. I figured it must have drove him crazy with notifications or something so I never said a word about it and I never turned on his iPhone in the night again. The one night my blood sugar dropped to 53 in the middle of the night. I woke up dizzy and woozy. I am new at this whole “diabetic” bullshit but I knew enough to quickly check my sugar level. After spending the summer in the 300 range, I didn’t know what to think about 53, so I grabbed the iPhone to Google some answers. After reading a few pages that suggested I was in trouble, I crawled to the kitchen and drank the very soda I have avoided for four months now, and finally started to feel normal again, but the scare kept me from falling back asleep so I started to play with the phone, seeking to wear my eyes out.
Here’s where I found something I still don’t know how I arrived at… it was a prompt that asked me if I wanted to undelete messages! Undelete? Really? I’ve never seen that before. So I said “yes” and that’s when Pandora’s box opened up. Continue reading →
As I sat on my bed crying the other day, my mind drifted into some imaginary place. Damn you Mister Rogers. Thanks to you I ride the trolley to world of make-believe all too often. This time I was pretending I had a place of my own to escape to.
Sometimes I wish I had my very own apartment. There wouldn’t be much in it. My real life is cluttered with knick knacks that preserve all my precious memories. But this fantasy apartment would just have the essentials. The lamps would be there for lighting, instead of because they had been handed down for 40 years. The linens would be perfectly coordinated high thread count delights. There would be one photo album, with only the best snapshots of the moments I most long to go back to instead of 47 scrapbooks falling off the shelf. Continue reading →