Tales from Rural Maine: Au revoir, Luna
June 7, 2016
Oof. Migraine. And my blood pressure was down to 105/46 and 92/62 today. I told my doctor I was light-headed, weak and tired, but he insisted it's a sign of good conditioning. Also? My poor little cell phone (Luna!) got smashed. She hung in their for a while, sending texts that were shaped like haikus and worded like riddles, but tonight, she became disoriented flipped her screen upside down and now refuses to give me access to anything but the Interweb, which is the only thing I don't want from her. A new phone arrives tomorrow, but if you try to text or call my cell phone before the new phone is set up, Luna will likely take your secrets to the grave. Au revoir, Luna! It was a real pleasure teaching your dictionary words like "shitbag" and "polyamory" and "Namaste." I never understood your constant refusal to let me type the word "totally" or why you always changed "Thanks," to "Tanks," or "you're" to "yore" or "this" to "thus." No one says "yore" or "thus" or "tanks" in conversation, Luna. But it's okay. I liked that you never surrendered your mysteries to me. It's important to be who you are, especially when it goes against the masses. Tanks for all the good times. Let "yore" freak flag fly! I'll (totally!) see you on the other side!
Oof. Migraine. And my blood pressure was down to 105/46 and 92/62 today. I told my doctor I was light-headed, weak and tired, but he insisted it's a sign of good conditioning. Also? My poor little cell phone (Luna!) got smashed. She hung in their for a while, sending texts that were shaped like haikus and worded like riddles, but tonight, she became disoriented flipped her screen upside down and now refuses to give me access to anything but the Interweb, which is the only thing I don't want from her. A new phone arrives tomorrow, but if you try to text or call my cell phone before the new phone is set up, Luna will likely take your secrets to the grave. Au revoir, Luna! It was a real pleasure teaching your dictionary words like "shitbag" and "polyamory" and "Namaste." I never understood your constant refusal to let me type the word "totally" or why you always changed "Thanks," to "Tanks," or "you're" to "yore" or "this" to "thus." No one says "yore" or "thus" or "tanks" in conversation, Luna. But it's okay. I liked that you never surrendered your mysteries to me. It's important to be who you are, especially when it goes against the masses. Tanks for all the good times. Let "yore" freak flag fly! I'll (totally!) see you on the other side!
Labels: health, humor, microstories
posted by Naomi at 5:56 PM
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