a first world lament

If you aren't first world, maybe just don't read this. Even those of you, who I greatly admire, who are deep and committed to social justice and the plight of the poor, and who do great things at great cost, just stop reading.

Just shallow Americans left? Okay. I DROPPED MY IPHONE AND IT DOESN'T WORK AND I CAN'T LIVE MY LIFE LIKE THIS. Oh, and I forgot about you fiscally-minded older generation who can't comprehend why anyone would ever need a pocket computer that costs as much as your house did, back when you bought it during the Depression. Get lost, Gramps, this one's not for you. (disclaimer: this horrific disrespect is for humorous purposes, only)

Okay, who's left? Welcome, bottom-dwellers. MY PHONE. It's like my brain has been amputated. I go to the store, forget to bring in my archaic paper list, can't access my Stickies, can't look up a recipe, can't google my next destination. I can't ADD things. I can't text anyone, and I can't see if anyone has liked or retweeted me, saying I am going to Walmart. I can't instagram an amusing picture of a Walmart patron and their magnificent mullet. I am like a pilgrim out here, like an astronaut without a radio connection to NASA.

And when I'm home and I want to heytell all the people my ideas for the day, I can't do it. I have to go on my real computer and email them, and who emails anymore? Other people, that's who. Like Laura Ingalls Wilder.

I can't write blogs, or paint the sunroom, or be productive, because it's like my arms are just lying there on the entry desk, and what am I going to do, put them back on with my feet? I can't even listen to music. It's not like having a flip phone. When you love an iPhone, as I do, it becomes a crucial part of your world, an extension to your hand and your brain. Suddenly, you hold all knowledge, along with a phone, camera, GPS, iPod and a million other things. Look around, the iPhone users will all be holding their phones as they go about their lives. You might think it's a sad commentary on the modern age. I imagine the Amish still shake their heads at cars, not to mention wifi.

The cruelest part is, it's just a loose wire to the display, so I can hear texts coming in, like taunts from a bully hidden in the bushes. Two tiny screws are keeping me from knowing all of the things. And they're weird screws, because maybe Steve Jobs had control issues, God rest his soul.  A friend might be able to fix it next week. Until then, I'll just be over here in a fetal position.