I hate the telephone. I hate it when I call someone, and it rings enough that I think the person isn't going to pick up, so I mentally prepare myself to leave a voicemail, but then the person picks up at the last minute, and I suddenly have to recommit to having a conversation instead of just leaving a message. And when I do end up having those conversations, I hate that I can't see what the person looks like while they're talking. So much gets lost in translation when you can't read a person's face to understand the full message behind their words. But oh man, when Caller ID first came out, I was in awe. The phone rings, and a name and number pops up on the screen, letting you decide if you have the emotional energy to deal with whoever is calling you. If I didn't appreciate it so much, I would worry about the omniscience that this little machine seems to possess. Big Brother is watching...
Of course, seeing as I am so phone phobic, it is only natural that circumstances in my life now require me to have my phone attached to my ear at least 45 minutes every day. Most of you know this, but my boyfriend has been living in Namibia, working for the Peace Corps, for over a year now. Since the internet is not easily accessible for him, and I have never gotten the hang of snail mail correspondence, our most reliable means of communication is the phone.
Sadly, this isn't new to us. Before our relationship went global, we spent four years of college living on opposite sides of the country. And when I tell people that, I always get one of two responses. Some people (all of whom have never actually tried a long-distance relationship) get a look of pity on their face as they shudder and say, "Oh how awful! You must be so miserable. How can you deal with the pain of separation? You poor thing. You must feel so...alone." As my former middle-school self would say, GAG ME. I don't want or need your patronizing pity, so shut it. Of course, the other popular response is one of condescending disbelief. Those people typically give a harsh laugh as they say, "Why in the world would you go through that? Long distance never works. You're such a chump. You're only going to grow apart. And you realize that he's probably hooking up with girls. When you actually add up time spent together, it's only been a few months of dating, not years. What a waste." Well, to all you haters out there, I just have this to say: I agree, it's not an ideal situation. But the difference between you and me is you have obviously never known a person worth waiting for. How sad for you.
Oh man, by the way, the worst critics have been from the Peace Corps, those cynical bitches. When they found out he was in a relationship, they made him fill out half a dozen forms, swear on the Bible, and sign a contract in blood promising that some silly little girl wouldn't distract him from his job. I spent several months seething with self-righteous anger at the injustice of it all, choosing to ignore the fact that significant others are the primary reason for volunteers to leave the Peace Corps early, so they're just trying to protect their investments, as it were. No, I wanted to march over there and shout at them, "CAN'T YOU SEE HOW PERFECT WE ARE FOR EACH OTHER! HOW DARE YOU DOUBT OUR RELATIONSHIP. YOU ARE COLD AND HEARTLESS, AND YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND OUR LOVE!" Needless to say, such an intense confrontation would never happen, due to my overwhelming inability to stand up to authority. Which my boyfriend is well aware of, so he just let me rant in the privacy of our apartment, with minimal eye-rolling and patronizing smirks coming from his direction.
Anyway, for the time being, I am holding my head up high, armed with my (apparently, after rereading that last couple of paragraphs) preachy I'm-better-than-you attitude, so that I can soldier through the never ending days of my telephone relationship. Hey, it could be worse. He could be living in a remote village somewhere with no service. I would be forced to write letters, which even I don't think would keep our relationship alive. There would be weeks of time stretched out between each letter, so that our correspondence would always be a few steps behind what was actually going on in our lives. It would be like some sick and twisted game of phone-tag. So, while I bitch and moan, I know that I really am lucky to have such a constant and reliable way to stay in touch. I guess the phone stays.
Trust me, though, when my boyfriend comes home next spring, my phone and I are getting a divorce.
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