Approximately 9 p.m. last evening, I owned today’s writing. My formerly sharp brain and I, by extension, held captive an idea … written on the walls of imagination. There, among dreams of lottery winnings, high functioning mental health, youthful skin, and non-clicky knees, this most wonderful, uplifting theme for today took its place. Largely noticed within bumbling fantastical whimsy, it sat as I went about other matters knowing this morning would come quickly. “Alas, I have stumbled upon the golden theme for tomorrow’s posting!”, as paraphrased and foretold to a friend in a text last evening, thus setting a terrific tome for today…
…yes, a particular, predetermined post never to appear in front of your expectant, hopeful eyes. Unfortunately.
Sometime during the night, whispered Samsung gods stole my phone and, in the process, took hostage my sanity. All attempts to pull lucidness back into my 6 a.m. start blogging world came to a panicky halt … and with that, a delightfully original idea went into a disposable digital file stamped, “I may remember for later … but won’t. Even if I do, the brilliance I believed in my heart will have been sacrificed to the what would-have-been idols.” … (and, yes I do have tabs wide enough for such a label).
Let’s get this over with. I sleep rogue. With certain back issues and irregular patterns of wanting to be my own boss, the sofa is king. Charging station, multiple remotes for stuff I don’t even think are around anymore, trays for snacks and glasses, reclining possibilities … all comforts giving me at least a promise of 4 hours quality sleep. This is the healthiest option I have short of snuggling into a heaping pile of large bills on a swanky, velvety hotel bed somewhere in Nevada.
Mr. Samsung is never far away – within an arm’s length resting comfortably atop the largest cushion, overseeing my dream state. He is in a holding pattern at the ready, fully charged should I rise inspired. Until he’s not.
Welcome to my February 7th, 2020.
There was no reason for me to believe in ghosts until reaching for my phone early this morning and all I felt was a sliverly white charge cord. Familiar? Yes. Expected? What do you think? Not only did this feel narly in my already suprised hand, it also had its little “watcha gonna do ’bout it?” jack face staring right back. Picking up the little bastard, in my best grimbly, stubble-faced voice, I demanded, “Where’s my damn phone?! …. I need answers and I need ’em NOW!’. Silence.
Ok. Talking to inanimate objects wasn’t going to work. Corrective action needed. I knew my phone was within 3 feet. It HAD to be near because I plugged it in only hours before. In behind, down in back, across the front, up the sides did my not quite awake body-eyes scan. My every knee-worn move was mocked by the Jack King from its sofatic throne above with those quiet spits of righteous venom from …. hold on … I’m overheating through reflection.
So, anyway…. no phone. Off to the house phone to do the reverse-call-cell-number-gag-trick. You know, right? Problem being ….. what? Yes. My cell volume was …. off. No worries, though. Middle of the early morning with no noise meant I should have been able to hear the vibrating no-call default. Home phone up to one ear, the other free, I began my best impression of Tonto listening for cattle hooves. Slowly, up and across the sofa cushions, then down on the floor, I relentlessly ear-scanned with excellence. Puncing, poping, and prodding my lobe in places I never thought possible with rug burn as a reward…no vibration -save the ever increasing, irregular frustrating beat of my heart … still no phone…and jack staring me down.
Next. The dreaded “thrust hands in mysterious, dark cracks” method of retrieval. Jeepers. At this point, I sat back and contemplated. Is my phone really worth it? If ghosts took it, so be it, right? I like my phone guys. I can always write using my desktop, upgrade to an IPhone, … the options are aplenty. Stick my piano hands into where? Shit, no!
I was into this project, easily, 20 minutes and wrote off any hopes of following through with the original blog. This was developing into a Doug does a thing anyway, so I had to push forward into uncomfortable.
Squinty eyes aren’t my thing unless I have bad gas or eye sight too poor to pick people out of a crowd. This was an unfamiliar time to squint. In went my hands as two eyes, not used to partial closure in response to distress, closed completely from the horror of it all. Swiping around in darkness amidst textures I’ve never assumed real, my hands were assaulted by things. I have no other words. Grubly things. Stofly things. Glurkley things. Enough things to warrant my immediate withdrawal of hands without concern for any phone I may, or may not, ever see again.
Off to the kitchen. Two reasons. I needed to return the house phone. Second, in the everything drawer was a flashlight. Last resort. You may be wondering why I didn’t use a flashlight before – when looking in and around the sofa. Well, I’m a guy. We don’t do the obvious things first. Also, as an aside, if you’re ever frustrated, don’t look into the shiny end of a flashlight at 6 a.m. before turning it on …. and then. Maybe this life skill was covered in 2nd grade? I may have been absent that day.
Back to the front lines I marched with flashlight in hand and two very bright white spots in my eyes. On my knees once again, battle weary with a chafed ear and traumatized hands, I mined the underbelly of the fabriced beast whereupon I once rested. Memories of those moments gone … simultaneous stares from jack above, dripping sarcasm every time I failed. The rails and metal parts scuffed and scraped until at last I saw a small little gem – an AHA moment heard silently around the living room. A sliver of silver so perfectly perfect was the volume control on the side of my phone!
Take THAT, Jack!! .. I found my phone. Step one. Here’s the new problem. This is a sectional sofa with an iron and metal configuration challenging the Eiffel Tower. My phone was jammed upright in between two rails making extrication almost impossible. Now, I knew the phone made its way down there from the pain-in-the-ass jack, right? Gravity works only one way. I had no solution. My hands were too large to fit in between and taking apart the sofa then, at 6:45 in the morning, wasn’t a fix. I considered sucking in deeply, thus reducing the hulkiness of my hands. Maybe the general laws of body mass would step aside? Yardsticks, yarn, another household item beginning with “y”, or another letter, wasn’t the answer. A quagmire🤔.
Out of ideas was I. The ring so close … yet so far. A bridesmaid, not a bride. Almost a full hour. All I wanted to do was wake up, blog about Chinese food, push “publish”, and go about my day. As it stood, I was being taunted by a skinny wire and beaten down through a series of sensorial slaps to my soul. All for what? To be left looking at my phone two feet away, pining for release …. a salvation I could not provide.
And then a cellular MIRACLE, my friends!!
….As if those very idols, of a blog never to be seen, released their powers upon me with alacrity never before seen. The force strong enough to force my little Jack “buddy” off his little perch and to dislodge my phone from its perilous position, falling gently to the floor where I scooped it up. Simply said, in a less dramatic way, I kinda banged the f*ck out of the sofa cushion above – out of frustration – which dislodged my phone.
I doubt today was the day you wanted to hear about Chinese food, anyway. Good thing ghosts decided to move my phone and for me to miss a few Friday happenin’s in order to write. It’s always good for me share as I hope it is for you to read.
With that, I will plug my phone in for another night’s charging. Honestly, if I wake tomorrow and find my phone missing again in the early morning, there will be a quite different fantastical whimsy dancing around in my head …..