Phones are here to make us miserable and they must go straight to hell. Even though I am quite fond of being able to communicate with people far away without moving my body the slightest, sometimes I swear I want to go back to the time where Bell stole the invention of the phone from Tesla and tell him that he would never EVER have profit of such device.
As most of you probably know, I like siesta. Meaning, sleeping an hour or so after lunch. It’s some sort of powersleep that maintains my awareness through the rest of the day.
So, in my bedroom there are two beds (the other one is for whoever comes as a guest, and a storage place full of computer components and/or cables) Two little counters and my Desk.
The counter near my bed has a brown landline phone that’s muted most of the time. My mobile phone is hung on the window because living in the basement is like living inside a Faraday Cage. Meaning that no GSM reception can penetrate it. Sometimes I have to OPEN the window, put the phone almost outside and connect my wired hands-free in order to have a proper conversation.
When I’m waiting for a phone call I de-mute the landline phone. Then the shit hits the fan.
Yeah it’s never EVER the one who I wait a call from. It’s usually a random friend, aunt or co-worker of my mother, usually having blond hair shaped like a banana peel saying how manly my voice has grown through ages and other stuff I don’t care to hear about. So I shout to my mom to pick up the phone even though she picks it up by herself because 99% of the phone calls are for her, so she has something like an intuition for picking up phones. Then go back to sleep. Alas.
In a weird subsequent tandem, My mobile phone rings. I have a ringtone from Initial D anime and live action series. While I first put it I thought it’s cooler than north pole, now it’s more annoying than a female penguin staging an orgasm.
So, that means that I have to stand up, open up the window, hook my hands-free and put the phone almost outside so I can talk. And it is the one WHO F*ING KNOWS THAT I WANT TO SLEEP. But my sleep is never a priority.
My beautiful nap is ruined. Thank you.
Oh, and don’t ask why I am grumpy some evenings. Don’t-you-dare.