Yesterday my droid short circuited and deleted all my text. I dunno man, but I’m really upset about it. I feel like maybe what it feels like to have your appendix removed - you know you weren’t using it but you can’t help feeling a little empty where it used to be. I know I get upset about the stupidest losses, like when a 5$ charm falls off a necklace, but as evidenced with my texts which are literally 0$ on the black market, its something else I’m missing. It’s the time I spent with them, the fact that they were mine, meant for me… or - OK maybe that’s crap. Because I’m really sad I lost mine and hotbird’s really witty diarrhea joke repartee (“humor runs in your jeans”) what I’m really upset about about, if I’m completely honest with myself, is texts from boys. I know it’s so lame, believe me, I know it. Our parents have shoe boxes of post cards, our great grandparents had hat boxes of calligraphy love letters, and what do we have? Mechanical devices that become obsolete and are replaced or go haywire and delete everything, either way the messages we send and receive have expiration dates. But I’ve kept my old phones with the idea that one day I could charge it up again and go through messages from my exes if I really wanted to. Now these are gone, really forever, they don’t exist anywhere.
I cried in Denver about the guy we’ll refer to as The Drug Dealer in the Headband. And then I got on a plane (middle seat no less) and felt sorry for myself. And then I got back to New York and I slept all day and then I woke up that night and I went out with hotbirds and her friend. I told them all about Headband and it was really weird - I was totally OK with it. I guess it was like that was a chapter, the playing house in Denver with a drug dealer chapter, an interlude, and now it was back to normal life. The texts were souvenirs from a place and the people there and the version of myself I had been. I had the “I want to snuggle u (:” text he sent, an integral part of our story. We had been hanging out all day and then he left, but not five minutes passed before I got that text, and then he came back for me. It’s like having the pen John Hancock used to sign the Declaration of Independence. And yeah, our story kind of played our like a text, it wasn’t a real connection it was just some back and forth, but all the more reason why texts were the ideal keepsake. Back in New York I never planned on seeing or hearing from him again, so its kind of weird I guess how upset I am that now he’s gone. He was already gone, 100% gone, I thought I had come to terms with that. But I guess the terms were that I got to keep that part of the memory untarnished.