You might never hear from me again.
It’s been four days.
Four days since I’ve seen my phone.
And I think he wandered too far from home this time. I’ve posted reward placards on nearby utility poles. Offered my daughter two dollars finder’s fee. My nine year-old who can find anything in the universe — except my iPhone.
I last used it Monday night. Tuesday morning it was gone.
* Texts gone.
* Twitter gone.
* E-mail checks gone.
* Voice conversations gone.
* All photographing and related photo tweets and emails gone.
* All calender, appointments, games, practices gone. (I called everyplace I remotely remembered had to be this week to check on the time. If I didn’t show up somewhere ~ terribly sorry.)
* All phone numbers gone. (I’ve found the phonebook, remember the paperback addition with white and yellow pages, though one from 2007 isn’t all that helpful.)
It’s amazing I’ve been able to get out of bed in the morning. Thank the good Lord the coffee pot wasn’t tied to some app on my phone.
Surely it will show up. Surely it will. It will sniff and sniff and find it’s way back. Or lose interest in this folly and turn it’s little digital self in — right?
“You took me for granted. Always punching and dialing and tweeting.”
How long does one of these things go missing before you officially call it over? It’s tragic when you don’t know your son’s phone number or your husband’s office number by heart.
Well, you might not hear from me for quite a while.
Or if I’m a really good girl to my husband this weekend — you might hear from me early as Monday.
