I don’t have a phone.
I last touched it while riding in the backseat of a Prius to Chateau Marmont. The driver’s charge cords were wrapped around the passenger side headrest. I noticed I was at fifteen percent charge, which my Mother mind voice told me was, very irresponsible for a single mother on a Friday night.
When we arrived at Chateau, I fell out the car door and into the street. Fuck a graceful anything, really.
I had been leaning against the door, saying goodbye to my driver, when a valet opened it for me.
I mean, I was leaning against it.
I fell right out, laughed, stood up; I looked back into the car backseat and floor to make sure I hadn’t dropped anything and I walked up the brick drive for dinner.
An hour into our drinks and oysters, my mind voice appears,
Where are your kids? You’re out in these streets eating oysters.
I mean, I know Bea is at a Friday night lights game and Henry went to see Alex G. BUT WHERE ARE THEY EXACTLY AND DO THEY NEED YOU?
This fucking voice. She’s the loudest. The mother voice. She’s the meanest. She’d murder for the right person, and there are a lot of right people in her life because the mother is by far the most astutely innovative, empathic and psychic of all voices.
And, I slip my hand into my small bag and feel nothing.
No phone.
I look on the floor. I stand up. It hits me:
I left my iPhone in the car, charging from the back of the headrest. I was distracted because the valet opened the door and I fell out.
It’s almost been twenty-four hours without a phone.
It was taken from the car.
I ordered a replacement with my insurance.
It arrived an hour ago and Bea told me I was an idiot because I had not replaced it with the new iPhone, but I was sure I had?
So, the wrong phone came. Then I forgot my AppleID.
So now I’m just smartphone-less because I can’t deal with this shit.
My house is clean.
I’m watching Judy Garland movies and writing.
I can only communicate by email and here.
My mother voice is, like, very into this.
Sounds like heaven. I envy you. I’m locked out of Twitter for telling Kanye he can Yeat shit and diYe. So, I am experiencing a small amount of freedom.
“So now I’m just smartphone-less because I can’t deal with this shit.”
I feel this. I feel myself becoming more and more like my mother, who refused to learn how to use the TV remote for this exact reason. If technology isn’t working with me, I’m just not doing it.