Saturday was a whirlwind of activity for me. It started with a meeting to review a writing project on which I am assisting a friend, moved to a boozefest disguised as a barbeque, smoking more cigars with a friend in town from NYC. Despite all of the implied and explicitly stated drinking throughout the day, I was very much in command of my faculties when I hoped the subway for the 25 minute ride home about 1am.
Metro had a different plan for me and the amount of time required getting home. The first train experienced some unannounced malfunction and was off loaded after just two stops. The replacement train arrived 15 minutes later and an apparently impatient conductor closed the doors before even half the people on the platform could board. My final chariot home arrived almost twenty minutes later. Upon boarding, I discovered that I had lost my cell phone somewhere during that odyssey. I blame METRO for the loss.
My shiny new phone arrived in the mail on Thursday.
I’ve changed my phone number before as a mechanism for pruning my list of contacts, but I still had the same names, numbers, and potential for trouble stored in my phone. This time I had to compose an email and consider the people who’s number I wanted to have. My list was shorter than I thought it would be.
I am sure that I missed a person or three; and I hope that over the course of time those unintentionally slighted people will call me. The thing that struck me, however, was the degree to which I prefer to be disconnected from this increasingly connected world. I am not sure if the question is about my space or about the old habit of pushing away those that get too close.