I’ve been living alone for the better part of six months now. It’s been going pretty well except yesterday, for the first time, I crossed a line- I started talking to myself. Or rather, what I should say was that I was talking to my phone. Is talking to inanimate objects better than talking to yourself? Doubtful. Regardless, these were not murmured internal ramblings, but full sentences at a conversational volume. If a girl talks in her apartment, and there’s no one there to hear it, does she make a sound?
Anyway, back to my phone “Where are you Phone…. Phooooone, Phone where are you?” But Phone no answer…. what now? Phone can’t call itself! Phone 128 years old! (four in non-techno years) Phone don’t even remember its own name!
I had no roommates to call Phone for me- but also, if my roommates were here, ST would be there to tell me that I probably already put it in my purse. To which I would reply that ‘no, I looked and it wasn’t there.’ She would then help me search and… a few minutes later I would re-check my purse and find that is was actually already in there. This exact routine happened, more often than not, every time we tried to leave the house.
…. and yeah, the second time I checked I found Phone in my purse.
The shot was taken Vancouver’s Stanley Park and the drop is from Dan Mangan, a Vancouver native. It’s been one of my favourite songs to run to these past few weeks and I keep it on heavy rotation.
“Post-War Blues” by Dan Mangan