When a saleslady would suggest I could pull a coupon up on my phone in place of the mailed one I “forgot” (read: never had in the first place but was trying for a better deal), I would sarcastically laugh. “Not on this phone,” I would reply.
When coworkers compared strategies for Angry Birds and spent free time with their heads bent over their fancy phones, I would bend my head over a book or a magazine.
When I would wonder “Where is that address?” or “What is a lunet?” or “What is the balance in my checking account?”, I would make a mental note to look up an answer at some later point in time when I had internet access. Which means that later on when staring at a computer, I couldn’t remember anything that I meant to look up.
Then, my “ordinary” phone was put on hospice. It’s functions became dysfunctional one-by-one: first it wouldn’t ring when my dad would call. Then the touch-screen area to send a text message became unresponsive. I couldn’t set my alarm clock.
I started going nuts. I hadn’t considered myself as one to rely on texting, but I sure missed it when it wasn’t an option. I had to revert back to calling people when I had a quick question. I couldn’t bother texting completely boring, mundane thoughts as they passed through my head. I’m sure my husband and family missed my sharing of those thoughts with them.
The time had come. A new phone was no longer a want, it was a need. And would you believe, most places don’t even sell phones anymore without every bell and whistle that comes with internet capability?
So it was that I ended up with a phone bigger than my hand that’s faster than my brain and has sunk me into the depths of free time spent dulling brain waves.
I love playing games with my sisters. I love having a decent camera that can catch my super-handsome toddler before he notices me pointing my phone at him (which results in the “Duh” look). I love being able to google before I forget what I’m yearning to know more about.
But I’ve found out that checking Facebook more than once a day is really unnecessary. It’s shocking how much about people’s lives that I don’t care to know about. And those who I stalk purely out of curiosity over what ridiculousness they thought worth sharing? Even they’ve become boring.
When I have a free moment, I’ve become one of those staring at my phone. And I’m not proud of it. My email isn’t interesting, my Facebook isn’t interesting, my turn to make a play on a game can certainly wait while I’m helping my kid sort shapes.
I can’t give up texting. I’ll get on Facebook more often than really necessary but probably never miss that my college friend finally had her baby or other friends finally got engaged. I’ll check my account balances when I need to know how much is there, I’ll find an address for someone who’s called 911, I’ll check my email when a friend needs to vent longer than is appropriate for a text. I’ll take pictures of my kid who apparently won’t stop growing and learning, I’ll get better at Scrabble with experience.
But I also need to pick up my novel and start putting a dent in my stash of unread magazines. I need to spend the time with my kid giving high-fives and singing Itsy-Bitsy Spider instead of thinking of a way to play the letter “z”. And this fancy phone isn’t going to help with those things.
The Pleasant Farm 
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