Modern communication

Ok, I admit it: I'm cranky. And the older I get, the crankier I get when I'm cranky. Dammit, I've worked hard for the privilege and, by gawd, I'm gonna use it!

I hate telephones. No, wait: I don't think you understand—I. HATE. PHONES. If I ever get a chance to put in a full day's work, I will probably die from the pure bliss of not having to ANSWER A STINKING BLOODY PHONE!!

I find phones presumptuous; rude; annoying; aggravating; and major time wasters. I try to avoid using them myself. I'll send an email a LOT quicker than making a call. And much prefer getting email. At least with email I can choose when I want to read it and when I want to respond. I hate having to drop everything to make that gawdawful noise stop. (And cell phones with those cacophonous poly-ringers? Don't EVEN get me started on THOSE. Suffice to say that my granddaughter has learned [at age three] to yell "get off the phone!" when she sees someone using a cell in their car.)

I RARELY make a phone call to chat. My friends all know this. I hear from most of them about once a week. And they all know, too, that if everyone has chosen to call me the same day, I get really cranky by the time the third or fourth person has called. It's nothing personal. I just hate phones.

Oh, sure, you say; but why not just turn the ringer off and let voice mail take it? Believe me: I do that a lot. BUT, you can't do that at work.

And just about every job I've had for the past ten years has involved ANSWERING THE STINKING BLOODY PHONE at some time or another.

And today, for some odd reason, the phone has insisted on ringing just about time I find my focus on whatever it is I've been trying to do all day—I keep abandoning tasks in an effort to get SOMEthing done, but to no avail.

Ok. I feel better. It's another one of those situations where I'd be much better off if I could just stop fighting it and learn to accept that this is just the way it is.