Tech-devotion

I am lax. How on earth can I consider myself a writer when I am so terrible at being consistent with it? For all the misspent time I could have written at least five books by now. Pitiful. Though self-loathing isn't going to get the words down here or in a word file. I believe I need to redirect whatever tenacity and vigor I have toward producing something of written value.

Life is short and opportunities become fewer as years pass. Will I have squandered the very moments that were a gift or will I finally choose to push myself to write regularly and with meaning? Trying to push myself toward productivity worthy of my creative talents.

Is there a vein of thought that would keep me typing away somewhere inside this head of mine? Sadly, there are too many to sort out and there would be a mass of half thoughts thrown on a page making little to no sense even to me. Well, maybe there's one...

I keep my phone beside my bed every night. It sits there on the nightstand, charging and waiting to sound the alarm I set for the next morning. I had an alarm clock, though it saw it's last hoorah a couple of years ago and I just never replaced it. Why, when I have a perfectly good iPhone to do the job? 

Every so often a notification causes my phone to vibrate in alert, most often I roll over and ignore it. Sleep, after all, is essential. I am, of course, ever so thankful I finally figured out those damn facebook notification settings. There were nights when the alerts caused a near-constant vibration and I'd just give up and turn my phone off. Yeah, phone off - no alarm. A couple late mornings and I was motivated to figure those settings out.

Depending on my current relationship status, I either love my phone or I loathe it. Currently I am resentful of the lack of texts from a special someone, as it serves to mock my inability to find a lasting relationship. At no time during the course of a 24-hour period is my contempt for my phone more prevalent than at bedtime. I plug it in to the charger, lie it down on the nightstand, and stare at it's dark screen. Nothing. No 'goodnight' texts, no prolonged facebook conversations; nothing. It isn't my phone's fault, I know, but the messenger always gets screwed. I eventually fall asleep, though there is some residual resentment when I wake up to no 'good morning' text. (Sigh) My poor phone bears a heavy load.

This phone has become an appendage, and one I couldn't imagine living without. Sad to some extent, but so much of my 'relationship interactions' are via its touchscreen and apps. I carry it close to me and try not to mistreat it, but I have accidentally thrown it while talking and dropped it when carrying too much in my hands. It is well protected in its defender case however. I can call, text, message and google the moment I want, and willingly frustrate myself with any number of word game apps. Being able to capture nearly anything with camera or video is incredible, if not just because all of these capabilities are in one little item. Efficient and user friendly.

What I have come to truly appreciate about my iPhone sitting quietly on my nightstand is that on those nights when I wake up with a writing idea or thought process, I can pick it up and jot it all down without ever leaving my warm, comfortable bed. I use the 'notes' app for ease and don't worry about misspelling anything. I can't see a damn thing without my glasses and most often rely on reflex and instinct to get those thoughts recorded somewhere. The whole objective is to clear my head and get back to sleep. Back in the day when I would grab a notebook and pen, I'd sooner lie there until I fell asleep, losing potential masterpieces to the night. Mr. Sandman could make millions on the ideas I let slip away. 

Yes, my iPhone is my lifeline, but more for the increased likelihood and occurrence of thought preservation it has provided. Even better that I can sync it with my MacBook Pro and continue to develop on the words I saved in the darkness.