I hadn’t hated myself more in recent memory than today. I woke up at 2:40pm still drunk from last night and went to grab my phone which usually sleeps with me. It wasn’t there. I checked the floor, the common room, the kitchen, the refrigerator (I’ve found it in there before). I couldn’t have lost it out, because I didn’t go out…because it was a Friday and I’m in my mid-20’s.
I felt a draft from an open window and the thought occurred to me that I should check the back deck. There was my phone, sitting precariously on the back ledge, completely soaked. I barely recalled going outside at around 4am to have a cigarette that my friend left behind which I completely didn’t need for two reasons: 1) my health, and 2) a cigarette at the end of a long night of drinking usually cuts my drunken motor skills in half and I end up decorating my body with bruises.
I immediately disassembled the phone and dried it the best I could. It didn’t respond to the power button. I left it on the charger in front of a fan for two hours (because I don’t own a god damn blow-dryer). Now, the power button doesn’t work, but the phone does respond when it is opened. I am praying that the touch screen still works, otherwise, this will be the third Droid that I have gone through.
This whole experience was a bit of a reality check. I am far too dependent on my phone for somebody who is not important at all. I wonder how many times a day I check facebook on my phone thinking “I wonder what’s new” only to realize that I checked it 15 minutes prior and nothing ever happens ever.
the self-hating hipster 
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