The Angry Typist

I jerked awake to the sudden buzzing of my smart watch and flicked my wrist ever so slightly to see that the 6:00 a.m. alarm did exactly as it was programmed and yet it was received with animosity. The sky outside had yet awakened, the early light of summer has begun its decline.

It had been a very long week of sleep deprivation which even Army training would be proud of. You see, Whiskey, the Weimaraner runt was having an unfortunate bout of diarrhea that required multiple trips to the backyard every 2-3 hours. This was the first day I have been able to sleep for more than a 4-hour increment.

I let out an exhausted sigh while lazily stretched under the warmth of the covers and both dogs took that as an indication that it was time for breakfast. Annoyed, I yelled, “Go back to bed!” And when neither Ziggy the Great Dane nor Whiskey moved, “It’s not time yet, FUCK!” I lied. My desperation to steal a few more minutes of sleep outweighed my sense of duty to keep to the dogs’ schedule.

BUZZZ, BUZZZ, BUZZZZ, the smart watch woke me again, but the 5 minutes felt like mere seconds. With the familiar sound, both dogs launched themselves off the bed, this time certain it was indeed time for breakfast. Ziggy towered over my face, deeply sniffing my hair while Whiskey jumped and pounced around the bedroom as if she had been held captive 100 years and was about to be freed. With a second exhausted sigh, I forced myself to leave the warmth and comfort of bed and thrust myself into the frigid air produced by the air-conditioner.

My fingers fumbled around in the darkness for my robe, and I crawled out of bed on all fours carefully avoiding Whiskey’s partially chewed bone stabbing my knee. It was as if when the boys were little, and I had to carefully mauver their bedroom floor to avoid sporadic Lego pieces on bare feet.  

I waddled to the toilet still heavy with sleep, my shadow Whiskey followed enthusiastically. My underwear dropped to my ankles and Whiskey tried to lick wildly at whatever her tongue came across, tossing her head every which way to say good morning. I quickly moved my knee this way, then my shin that way, then finally my leg lifted to dodge the persistence of the wet cold nose encroaching onto my bare skin. At last, my patience worn thin, “Go away, let me pee!” I complained grumpily. All the while, Ziggy waited patiently on the bed with his rare legs hanging off the bed.

We all headed downstairs; the dogs ran down the u-shaped staircase like a heard of elephants waiting to be let outside to relieve themselves. My body went to automatic drive mode, and I mindlessly filled their bowls with food and fresh water as I’ve done every morning, then cleared the sink of the dishes over the loud snoring dogs who are well into their morning naps, as I’ve done every morning.

It was Friday, which meant that it was my weekly allergy shots & Starbucks day. In my haze of exhaustion, I rushed out the door to get to the allergy clinic before too many patients arrived before me.

The automatic double doors welcomed me with a swoosh. As I walked towards the clinic, I glanced at the waiting room through the partial glass wall and was elated that only 2 others were in the waiting room. I pulled open the glass door, signed in at the shot window and sat down.

I’ve learned to wear capris to fend off the office air conditioning, but the downside is that I must constantly adjust myself from sliding off the faux leather chair, since my feet don’t touch the ground. I reached into my bag for my phone and realized that in my brain fog I had left it sitting on the kitchen counter. In my disbelief of my forgetfulness, I pried my bag with both hands and visually inspected every inch to find nothing but emptiness. I zipped the pocket with disgust only to open it again rummaging through it just to make sure that I hadn’t overlooked anything.

It occurred to me that I had to nonchalantly occupy myself for 30-whole minutes without the benefits of a phone to access the internet, shopping sites, social media, or any funny, cute pet videos. As my mind was scrambling as to how I could pass the time in a completely non-awkward, non-creepy way, to my relief, my name was called for my shots.

I returned to my seat and the waiting room was filled with a few more patients. In surveying around, everyone – seniors, adults, teenagers, even children, had their heads burrowed as if they were all mesmerized by their perspective screening devices. Phones, tablets, laptops all emitted the familiar and perhaps comforting glow which time seemed to abscond with ease.

The office allergy shot safety protocol mandated all patients to wait 30 minutes after each injection and was only allowed to leave after the shot nurse verified no adverse reaction had occurred. It was the longest 30 and perhaps most uncomfortable 30 minutes shared with a captive audience.

My hands felt completely at a loss with nothing to swipe left or right or scroll up or down. It was alien to have absolutely nothing in my hands to entertain myself and I felt completely out of sorts to sit there, restless, and evading my eyes from starring at anyone person longer than socially acceptable. Although with everyone with their heads buried in their screens, I could have probably starred all I wanted, and they would be none the wiser.

This is the world that we have all grown accustomed to and without the technology that has surrounded our daily lives, something grossly seems amiss.

A little sad bit of truth.