Monday, October 12, 2009

Blackberried




I own a Blackberry.

A typical Blackberry day of mine starts at 4 in the morning.There wouldn't be any text messages I haven't read or haven't replied to because I always respond asap no matter what time it hits my device. But I will check it just one more time, just to be sure. At 12 midnight, 2 in the morning, while I am taking an afternoon power nap, I would get up and diligently answer everyone except the frequent adverts on free credit cards and the discount sales at the Armani Exchange. No body is ignored. I try to go back to sleep; but I am awake, looking up at the ceiling, bleary eyed.

I used to meet friends, have a beer, talk about family, work, women. But now conversation is different if the guy I am talking to owns a blackberry. We end up talking Blackberry. We share wicked jokes on the "storm" and the "curve". We exchange insane ring tones and sleazy mms all the time glancing at the others in the pub, wondering if they would all die one day missing all the Blackberry fun. We feel proud that we "have" and they "havent". We feel sorry for them and order another beer.

The story isn't any different in the restaurant. I never order pasta because it would mean using two hands to coax that food down your throat; which means that until I am done eating, my Blackberry would be out of the warmth of my palm,left alone, cold in the air conditioned solitude of the dining room.I would rather suck pasta till I am red in my face.

Official meetings can be slow death if you have a Blackberry on silent mode. Every vibration quickens your pulse rate and pulls you agonizingly through the blackberry-withdrawal-symptoms. My fingers twitch to check those life-saving text messages. My heart yearns to answer that call from a bored friend waiting for a taxi.And once the meeting is over, I pull out my Blackberry and Richard Marx sings "right here waiting for you" right into my soul.

I have recently noticed that my right thumb looks a wee bit larger than the left thumb. There are some parts of my right palm that feel slightly different than before. I feel an occasional fake vibration in my right trouser pocket even when the Black berry isn't there.

I facebook at funerals. I text while making love. I browse when I work, not at work, at home, not at home, when i am breathing.

I do not own a Blackberry. Blackberry owns me.

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