Just when I thought I had the secrets of the universe at my fingertips, I went to my friend’s little summer BBQ festivity, dipped below the influence, and woke up the next morning with my phone capsized into my spider plant’s open-mouthed vase (fuck my life for trying to be an eco-urbanite like all the rest of the cool kids in BK) and my precious poopsie puppy with a bloody foot.
Dog is fine, just clumsy enough where I had to purchase accident-protection for him on the fly.
I made a mausoleum for my phone from tupperware found under my sink, filled with organic brown rice from Trader Joe’s. Is that the wrong type of rice to resurrect my phone’s fried innards? Probably. Because I do everything wrong.
Luckily though, because I’m a little Asian princess whose family throws her a lifeline every now and then, I don’t have to pay for another phone. They just happen to have a spare iPhone lying around, which will be shipped to me this weekend. I could just go out and buy another phone, but because I am convinced, in my sadistic and delusional mind, that I don’t deserve to (literally) pay for my mistakes, I will wait and enact the exit clause from adulthood and its responsibilities, living in the tech-deprived darkness for a week in the interim.
I liken myself to an Asian-American millennial Jane Eyre, wading the waters of an unfamiliar house, writing on weathered parchment by candlelight, and (hopefully) being seduced by Michael Fassbender as Mr. Rochester—and then finding out that he has a wife he keeps locked up in the basement because she’s fucking crazy and keeps trying to burn him alive in his sleep, so I leave him, then come back to love on him once he’s blind and minus a hand. You can’t have everything, as they say.
Clearly I’m deranged, more so now without a phone.
I have these grandiose ambitions of reading more, writing more, finishing Mozart in the Jungle on Amazon, and overall just engaging more with the physical world while I wait for my robot-limb to arrive in the mail. Will they happen? Most likely not. Because I still have an iPad mini and two computers to burn off my corneas against their screens. According to Aziz Ansari’s Modern Romance, we spend about 7 hours a day in front of a screen. Even without the most convenient one, I can still reach that quota, easy. I will actively find ways to accelerate my blindness. I will overcompensate for my lack of texting ability by spamming the shit out of people on social media. And I will likely get Super Smash Brother’d again this weekend and hemorrhage money that I don’t have because I’m insane in many ways save the literal definition: I do the same thing over and over again, expecting the same results, but at least knowing that resistance is futile.