As the week-without-a-phone got underway, not having one seemed like it should be a good thing. I couldn't text every
little thought that entered my head anymore, which made me more
attentive--but with strong undercurrents of loneliness and misery.
A good friend of mine had recently
complained on Facebook about a mother he saw on the street who was
texting instead of answering her child's questions.
“But kids have a LOT of questions,”
I replied, and felt a little smug in my cleverness. But then later I
realized it could have been me he saw. Had I become that inattentive
mom in the street? Of course I had! This break from texting was just
what I needed. A break from my own impulsiveness. A
detox.
Trouble is, I had started another type
of detox that week, the Clean program, which purports to help your
body rid itself of “toxins.” Like all cleanses, you give up
caffeine and alcohol. Yes, both. At the same time. More misery, but
if it makes me look less horrifying in a bikini during spring break,
it was worth it.
So, just to recap: I was now detoxing
from caffeine, alcohol, and texting.
It wasn't working for me, people! Maybe
I was overdoing it on the kale/hemp seed/flax oil/almond-butter
smoothies, or maybe it was the stress of missing appointments and
never knowing what time it was that was stressing me out and therefore adding to my belly fat.
I was gaining weight, while constantly
hungry for some sugar and coffee.
“Eat some food,” said my husband.
“Food that's not chia seeds and kale.” But I told myself it was
important for the “toxins” to leave my body.
Then my husband did something—rather, didn't do something. I had been counting on him for it, and when
he didn't come through I was angry. We talked about it over email,
and he apologized.
But I was still mad, and stoking the
embers of the injustice that was done to me.
I couldn't text him that I was still
mad. As far as he knew, everything was fine, and that was killing
me.
We just had that one little efficient
conversation. There was no prolonged texting drama where he would let
me vent while he did something else and then answered with a few more
apologies later, when he had a moment.
Until I had a phone again, I realized,
I couldn't nag. Now that was
going to be a problem.
When I saw my husband later that day,
he apologized again. After the kids went to bed, he started getting
rather...affectionate.
But I wasn't having it. I was caught up
in what felt like a cloud of free-floating anger, where it constantly
rained giant teardrops of gloom. I couldn't stop crying over the dumbest
things.
It went on for days.
“I don't feel like myself!” I
sobbed to him on the third night he tried, and failed, to get
romantic. “I think I'm
possessed! This could be spirit possession!”
Because he's a tactful guy, my husband
covered his mouth before he burst out laughing. “I think we might
have a few more options before we get to spirit possession,” he
said. “Maybe you miss your phone?”
“It's just a phone!” I said. “There's no way a
phone would make me this upset."
He had a point, though. It
wasn't just a phone. I had lost a few good photos of the kids, my
favorite books (no e-reader), my watch, my alarm clock, my agenda, my
to-do list, some music, and what I have come to understand is a major
tool of my own co-dependence.
“You'd be amazed,” said my husband,
trying to make me feel less freakishly materialistic. “I was just reading
about how over the past few years, people have become really attached
to their phones.”
It helped a little. I came a bit closer
to him and allowed him to put his arm around me. He had his phone sitting in front of us, along with another brand-new smartphone he had just got through work.
His arm around me; me looking wistfully at his smartphone. It was a bit of a love triangle. He made his move.
“Why don't you take my phone?” he
said. “I have two.”
"The new one?" I said.
He nodded.
It was date night, baby. Apparently I am that
shallow.
