Yesterday morning I reached over and picked up my phone, looked at the time and thought at it, it’s too early to be awake, put it back down and went back to sleep.
Usually I bring it out by the computer after I get up. And maybe I did. But I also went in the kitchen, stepped sideways looking down at the mug in my hand I was mixing the cocoa into, looked up–and creamed my head on the overhead cabinet door.
Which I always always shut so that I don’t do that. Um.
Shortly thereafter I realized I didn’t know where my phone was.
Which apparently was in silence mode.
The sheets have been changed, the blankets shaken out, there are no iPhone bits in the bottom of the washer, nothing under the bed, it’s not in the Instant Pot, it’s not in the chocolate machine, it’s not under the microwave, it hasn’t fallen behind the computer desk (although that’s nicely dusted now), it didn’t fall behind the piano, it’s not inside the printer, it didn’t land in his shoes, it didn’t end up in the ziplock bag with the hat project, it’s not outside where I was pruning the cherry, nada.
So that’s what I mostly did today, too. At this point I’m beginning to eye the fridge and wonder if we should pull that out to look behind there, too, having a tall husband who occasionally puts things up there briefly because he can see up there whereas I cannot.
Because I really wanted to take a picture of the first peach flower of the year that opened this morning. I love how short winter is here.
Just watch your head on those branches is all.
Saturday morning update: I woke up and felt the impulse to roll over and grab my phone.
As if. I ignored it.
A few minutes later, the feeling persistent and pushing at me, I did roll over and look to prove to myself I was being silly.
And there, black against black, was the edge of my phone just barely discernible, lodged between the bed frame and the box springs. Even looking at it, I had to reach down and touch it to be sure.
And the little stinker was even still half charged.