You know what really sucks?
When you put your phone on silent.
Because you don’t want to answer it.
Because you are hiding in your own house and you have psychotics in your life that will come to your house, be unswayed by the unanswered door, call your phone and then troll around windows and doors to see if they can HEAR the ringing, thus proving you’re home.
But that’s beside the point.
You put your phone on silent.
But set it near you so you can see the display light up for a call.
You answer a call from your brother to learn that your arch-nemesis, AKA the stalker that’s driving past your house every three minutes to see if you’re home yet, is safely distanced from yourself so you may venture into the kitchen to make a sandwich, grab a yogurt and a bottled water and then huddle in a hallway far from the line of sight of any door or window to enjoy a meal.
You take the phone with you to the kitchen.
Simply because your brother may call to inform you that your arch-nemisis is returning to the area and you should duck and cover IMMEDIATELY.
You get involved in the intricacies of concocting the sandwich, juggling it with the Dasani and Yoplait and shoving all of it down your throat before anyone can notice a light on in your house.
You completely forget to grab your phone from the counter. The counter in full view of the back door of your house with the huge, uncovered window and no fence (or moat) around your house to prevent others from letting themselves into your backyard.
Two hours later.
You know that the "safe zone" is long gone.
The arch-nemesis could be at any window, at any time, searching for signs of life or unobstructed entry into your abode.
You realize that someone you WANT to call is supposed to call soon.
You reach to your left for your phone, only to discover that it’s haven is devoid of inhabitants.
Oh dear God.
You desperately search all areas deemed safe.
Unlit, windowless rooms. Windowed rooms with shadowed areas to tip toe in.
You begin to realize that you’re too old to be sneaking around your own home.
Actually, the mere fact that you OWN your own home should alert you that you’re too old to be sneaking around it.
But, being the chicken that you are, you continue to sneak.
You narrow down the possible places for the phone to one: The counter in full view of the back door of your house with the huge, uncovered window and no fence (or moat) around your house to prevent others from letting themselves into your backyard.
You cry tearlessly.
You straighten your spine, take a deep breath, become determined to act your age, then bend down and skulk quickly (were there ever two such incompatible terms?) to the kitchen, retrieve the phone and sprint faster than Jackie Joyner-Kersee to your safe place: Your bed littered with books, the laptop and . . well, could anything else be needed to survive? I think not.
And, after all this trouble, you realize:
You really wanted a glass of sweat tea . . and as long as you were exposed, you could have gotten it. But, now, you’re relegated to tap water from your bathroom which you will have to drink from your hand.
That’s what really sucks.