There's an app for that.

A twitter friend of mine teased me the other day, asking if there was an entry planned in the DSM-V for Apple addicts.

My first response was to joke "There's an app for that."

But then I came curious. Who could say? Perhaps a new addiction had crept into my Closet of Neuroses. (50 kronkites if you catch the reference. I will love you and hug you and squeeze you.)

So like anyone in the golden age of the Internet, I went and googled that.

What I found was amusing until it became alarming. From PC World's "8 Signs You're an Apple Addict:"

1. You have a nightmare about lost/broken iPhone. Nope.
2. You can't pass an Apple store without entering. Uhh...
3. You're a troll calling yourself "AppleHatersSuck." Definitely no.
4. iTunes is your favorite place to shop. Nice, but no. It's my one stop-shopping place for music, but I get my ebooks from whoever has them for less (and usually iBooks is the most expensive vendor) and I don't tend to buy movies online. Although I have rented two from iTunes.
5. You're infatuated with Steve Jobs. No, but I did mourn his passing. RIP Steve.
6. You bought multiple iPhone cases. Ok, that's not really fair. I got the free one, then decided to get another one because the free one was just, well, ugly. Life is too short to have ugly. The I got one designed just for me from Cafe Press and I loved it...until it broke. So, now on the hunt for another one. But it's not like I change the cases out with the seasons or some crazy thing like that. I love the idea, but don't have the cash for such an expensive taste. So this on this one, I say the jury's out.
7. You can outrun the Energizer buddy.  HA! Nope.

and finally:

8. You name your iPhone "My Precious."  A Stanford survey caught a few students naming their iPhone and even patting it like a puppy. One out of four described the iPhone as an extension of their brain or body. iPhone addicts also tend to be loners, constantly staring into the device, even mesmerized by it. Stanford roommates living with an iPhone addict call themselves "iPhone widows." 


OK, WHO'S BEEN SPYING ON ME?! WHO?!...ugh, I plead the 5th. Because that is just messed up. Stalking people just to make a point in an arcane article (put out by PC Magazine no less, I mean c'mon it's ok but nowhere near the quality and integrity of oh, I don't know, MACWORLD) is a sign of serious trouble. But besides that, the fact that I've named my iPhone(s) My Preciousssss, or that I refer to it as my Other Brain, means nothing. Got that? Nothing.

I'm perfectly fine. I can stop whenever I want to. Which I don't. But if I wanted to, I could.

So there.


 

Because.

I am trying very hard to write something--anything--fictional. Not THE book as Jim keeps asking me, but a drabble to get my mind thinking creatively.

The issue is that I can't seem to create anything separate away from myself and my family. "Write what you know" is a great suggestion, but I don't desire to write a thinly veiled roman a clef.

Come on, muse, where are you? You whispered in my ear constantly in my teens. Now that I have time and energy again, you've hidden yourself. Please come back. I have cookies.

Update

Earlier I groused about how I felt I was drowning in monotony, longing for an inner fire to be lit that would put color, vitality, and passion into my life.

I remember when I wrote those lines. It was grey outside. Which consequently made me feel grey inside. I am solar powered, and if kept overcast for longer than a day I begin to wither.

BUT. I discovered THIS:

And my eyes were opened.

It is up to ME to discover what moves me. I do not have the time to lose waiting for something outside of me to knock softly on the door. Rather, I must go outside of my narrow comfort zone, think, experience, ACT.

Because I spent my entire life getting to where and who I am today, and I want it to be worth it.

Minor Personal Epiphany

I have come to the conclusion a common trait is desiring to be a part of something larger than yourself...but if I am to be completely honest, what I really want is to be a big fish in a little pond.

Being a big fish in a big pond is being a celebrity. And although I am sure I would enjoy the novelty of it, I am certain that it would wear on me quickly. I am a fairly quiet person and while I trust people at large, do not give up my personal trust easily. So I do not think I would enjoy being constantly followed. Frankly, I have enough of that at home with four children and two dogs. (But if Ellen DeGeneres would ever like to interview me about anything, I'd free my calendar immediately.)

But being a big fish in a small pond is being recognized in your personal niche. I value words, both written and spoken, so it should come as no surprise that I look up to authors. I follow lesser known writers on Twitter and long to see them gain professional success beyond what they have already achieved. All of this is a fancy way of saying I'm a fangirl. Yes, I love John Green with a crazy passion and have dreamed, yes, REM-style dreamed, of him giving me a hug. Not that Mrs. Green or my husband has any cause for concern. I long to have Maureen Johnson to my home for supper. If I could lure Jenny Lawson into my kitchen, I'd basely feed her brownies and bribe her with any treats I could concoct for her company.

Because I am so private, I am humbled and awed by the written novel. To have created something so personal, created solely by imagination and determination, inspires me. Holding a book in my hand that is personally signed by the author is like touching them for the briefest moment.

I am enjoying watching the The Fault in Our Stars excitement on Twitter today as the book releases. John has worked incredibly hard to create this world contained by two covers. We his fans have watched and read and listened and laughed as he's shared about it on You Tube, Twitter, and Tumblr. We have preordered our copies so we might have a signed edition, and all wonder if we will be lucky enough to receive one that has been further personalized by a drawing of a Yeti by his wife, or a fish by his brother.

When my copy is in my eager troll paws at last, I will gently run my finger over the Jscrawl and wish I could shake John's hand in person. But alas, I am but a tiny fish in a pond.

I have nothing to say

Yet I wish to write so much.

I have been reading a delightfully pedestrian Cinderella-story that is so ordinary and yet just vibrates with intensity. Pathos, angst, true love...everything short of pirates. No I will not share it unless specifically requested, simply because I wish to tempt fate and see if anyone reads me. Which I doubt. And I'm ok with that.

I should be grateful for the boredom because usually when things are not boring they are very, very bad.

I do so want something to spice up my life in a non tragic fashion. And with today's headlines I feel like I am tempting fate and setting indiscretions in digital print.

But to feel...anything, really, besides the grim slog and toil of daily monotony. To feel passionate about something again. I swear I wouldn't take it for granted.

Bring me to life. I dare you.

ah, God

This is it, the last humiliation: the recognition that I am, in fact, that worst of all stereotypes--the bored housewife. The shame, the ignomy.