The Weekend I Forgot My Phone In Work

I had a semi heart attack on Friday evening. At least that's how it felt. I was due on a bus back to Monaghan in 5 minutes and I couldn't find my phone. I was stuck somewhere between 'Maybe I left it in work..' and 'Did someone steal it?'

Normally I'd exit the building with it in my hand and I'd use it on the Luas. Not this day, only noticing when I got to the bus stop that there was no phone. Not in my jacket pockets. Not in the bag that I practically emptied on a shop floor in search. I just stopped short of opening my suitcase that I'd fully packed and zipped up the previous night.

And there was initial panic of 'What have I done?' and then freaking out about 'How will my parents know when/where to collect me?' and 'How did people cope just 15 years earlier without mobile phones?' (and a special shout out to the exceedingly nice gentleman who didn't hesitate to offer me his phone so I could call the one number I knew - my Dad's)

But after that, the weekend suddenly became a lot more freeing. No social media checks. No Pinterest-ing through a film. No contact outside of who was in the house. (Ok, ok, I did have access to the family laptop, but I think we can all agree that the smaller the screen, the more likely you are to be sitting with it in your hand).

I read the whole way home on the bus. I read every night until I fell asleep. I scrapbooked. I played fetch with the dog. I did my grocery shopping. I took the dog to the lake. I fed some baby calves. I drank a lot of coffee and tea. I helped my Dad fix the van. I tidied my wardrobe. I made my kitten go down a slide. I planned my outfits for the week.

It was kind of glorious.

I don't want to NOT have my phone with me in future. But I'm certainly not against using it less.