I received a call from Verizon Wireless earlier today. The friendly representative on the other end of the line inquired as to whether I might like to purchase a new cell phone to replace the one they had feared I had lost. I answered with a question of my own; why would Verizon think I had lost the cell phone? The answer faced me painfully with a loss I am ardently attempting to forget. The rapid and inexplicable decline in my phone calls and texts to a certain 937 number had all but ceased in a weeks time.
When Sam and I were apart physically we were never absent from one another totally thanks largely to the opportunity of sharing each others notable moments via cellular means. Any funny daily episode was sent to the other should he not have the fortune to be present for the moment itself. Any noteworthy occurrence, even a simple "...was think of you...", or "...I swear to god if [insert name] screws that aria one more time..." comprised approximately half of my monthly calls and fully 98% of my texting existence.
Oh without fail those first few days I learned the painful way. I would call and receive that ugliest of reponses...the voicemail. Texts were sent without response. My desperation grew and desperation quickly yielded to sad resignation. My only use now for my cell phone was a nightly conversation with an exhausted Autumn. Otherwise it sits idle.
I kindly told the Verizon lady that she could discontinue my service. I was going back to smoke signals and carrier-pigeons.
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