Chronicle of a death foretold

I know I have no right to talk about it like it's a real person, but the void in my heart is similar. At night, its place by my head is now simply another unoccupied place in bed. When I wake up in the morning, I have been like a ship adrift at sea with no recognizable port in sight. My phone, Leonard II (2Molly to some of you), is dead.

Imagine barreling down I-66 at 3 am discussing with your mates what your next move should. Suddenly, nature is mentioned and you have the brilliant idea of a hike at a trail hidden nearby. Your trusting mates follow you blindly into the night, sliding one foot in front of the other down the rocky path. The old Civil War ford at Bull Run stretches before you whispering your name as it slides over the mossy rocks. Allie sits on a nearby rock asking for reason, begging me to keep my arse on dry land; however, my mate, Brendan, knows my adventurous spirit and is probably just as tipsy as I am. He follows as I begin my trip across the river and watches in slow motion as the slippery rocks claim flip flop #1.

Amazed that my shoe could disappear so quickly into the night, I fall to my knees and begin groping around the jagged rocks below. One shoe down, I attempt standing only to windmill my arms and flail about like a chicken. At some point flip flop #2 decides it misses its brother and takes off. Nothing between the river bottom and my feet, I sudden feel it important that I rescue my flip flops from their downstream death. To my knees again, only this time my fate is far worse.

Oh, dear friends. The cockiness of my last post was splashed back in my face Friday night as my phone slid out of my bra and into the stream below. Brendan made a valiant attempt as phone rescue, but it was too late. Submersion kills a phone faster than anything. For the second time in a year, I have violently laid a $300 phone to rest, and now I'm determined to spend some time reflecting on how much I need online-internet-email-aim phone that brings me joy.

Sigh.