On the Phone

It may be there will be a few someones (my sister, my mother) who disagree with the truth of this statement, but I have something to admit. I don’t really like talking on the phone. There. Perhaps you wish to quit reading. You, no doubt, have your cell phone attached to your pocket or purse for easy access.

I do have one, but I don’t always know where it is. I certainly don’t know my own cell number.

I don’t understand the need for certain people in my life to only call me when they are in the car or on the move. It’s as though I am not worthy of their at home-sit down time. And maybe that’s part of my problem too. I’m just not very good at walking, driving, cleaning, etc, on the phone. I have to sit down somewhere quiet and concentrate. I have a friend who would call pre-cell while she was washing dishes, so there was a constant clatter and rinse going on. Now she only calls while she’s driving, or checking out at the store, or ordering at the restaurant. “I’ll have the shrimp gumbo. Oh no, not you.”

I’m a very good email-er. Almost freakishly compulsive. I hate to think you’re sitting there waiting for my reply. Sometimes I tell myself to wait a minute so my reader doesn’t think I have been laying with my head on the keyboard waiting for that little chiming sound which means an email has arrived . . . which I have.

I should learn to text better which would be an nice combination of people’s cell phone obsession and my email obsession, but I find it too pokey. I’m not coordinated enough with my thumbs. I like to write words out. I like punctuation.

Iv gotta gt W d tyms or gt lft Bhnd

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