The little hanging box, it looks pathetic now--detached from my face, hanging by a blue string. With that noose wrapped around its neck, the little black box looks like a convicted criminal. But what was it's crime? I enslaved myself. Society has done itself in. The poor thing seems forlorn, not evil in the slightest. And I feel a bit desolate without it, as well. And certainly my mother wants me dead after all the missed phone calls. But life has been incredibly pleasant with out my little celly on hand. No feelings of life and death emergency when I hear it ring. No leaping out of bed/the shower/thoughts when I hear the sound of a text message. I owe it nothing. I do not feel obligated to send insincere messages of birthday congratulations. I've been talking to people in person. People I genuinely like. Even letting conversations and events unfold out of pure happenstance (one might even call it fate) and leaving planning to the...err...planners. I feel the Transcendentalism coming on. I may start wearing flowers in my hair and pick up the acoustic guitar...
Maybe I should send one text message before this gets out of hand.
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