ahream

My husband is sitting at his desk in the living room, iTunes piping through his earbuds, mouse click-click-clicking. Less than two feet away, I’m on the couch tapping away on my laptop. Both of us are as reasonably hard at work as two moderately obsessed workaholics can be on a Sunday. I have a question for my lovely groom. What do I do? I log into MSN and send him an instant message. He responds. I send a response to his response. We conduct an entire conversation while being close enough to touch without ever actually talking.

For a nano second, it occurs to me this might be a sign of the apocalypse – or at least the end of communication, romance and family life as we know it. Then it occurs to me that the voice in my head that said that belonged to some amalgamation of my parents. And that MY voice was saying, “Hehehe. Cool, man.”

(My inner voice tends to sound disturbingly like Bart Simpson.)

And it IS cool. Through the miracle of internet communication, my husband and I carry on never-ending conversations, all day, every day. I know how his day is going long before he shows up at the dinner table, all through five or six words blips exchanged once or twice every couple of hours. Earth shattering, meaningful commentary? No. But a pleasant connection that eases the workday-workout-crazy-commute separations.

Usually something like this –

Him, 10:02: Damn meetings. AFK ‘til lunch.

Me, 10:03: K. Don’t forget to take your vitamins.

Him, 12:52: We’re out of peanut butter. I had to take a ham and jelly sandwich.

Me, 12:53: Gross.

Him, 12:54: Surprisingly not.

Me, 2:36: Spaghetti for dinner. Meat sauce or meatballs?

Him, 2:43: Both!

Me, 4:09: My toe hurts. It’s looking a little green. That’s bad isn’t it? What does gangrene look like?

Him, 4:10: Maybe it’s toe cancer.

Me, 4:11: It’s not toe cancer.

Him, 4:12: Jesus, I’ve got 5 meetings tomorrow. FIVE.

Me, 6:02: There’s no such a thing as toe cancer, right?

Me, 6:03: RIGHT?!?

Him, 6:04: All I do is go to meetings.

Me, 6:05: That’s it. I’m Googling it.

Him, 7:23: I’m on my way home.

Me, 7:24: I’ll try not to die of toe cancer before you get here.

I always thought it would be nice if we worked together. And the thing is, we kind of do. Total time spent sending messages in a day? Maybe five minutes, less than the old-fashioned cigarette breaks. Value of keeping connected? Priceless.

“Technology rocks, man. Cowabunga.”

*Extra credit for getting this pop culture reference.

ahream Dispatches from the City of Angels I'm a mystery writer living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my short story, "Running Venice," in the new anthology LAndmarked for Murder. Look for it in bookstores and on Amazon.com now. In the meantime, feel free to poke around. Over at my website you can find even more blog entries than I could fit here, as well as a few other ramblings. Enjoy and come back often.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (4) Most Recent Twitters: A 3-foot long alligator was found walking down the middle of the street in Venice Beach this morning. I love L.A. In case you were wondering, it is very difficult to get a hummingbird out of your house. They are irrational and prone to hysterics. L.A. Finds: The Nickel Diner on Main between 5th and 6th is a made-to-look-old, throwback of a place that melds into the old downtown and is, at the same time, part of the renaissance. They serve their burgers medium, their soda in bottles and offer all they can to locals in need. Flickr Updates: The second Thursday of every month is the Downtown Art Walk. The galleries stay open late, the restaurants are packed, bands perform on the streets. God, I love L.A. What I'm Reading: Attack of the Unsinkable Rubber Ducks by Christopher Brookmyre What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami Want E-Mail Updates? Click here, type your e-mail address into the first field (for public entries) and receive an e-mail note each time a new blog post goes up. (Photo updates, Twitters and "L.A. Finds" features not included. Those you have to swing by and check yourself.) Absolutely, positively no spam. Promise. Other author blogs: Sue Ann Jaffarian Eric Stone Christa Faust Lipstick Chronicles		2006-08-22 10:46 AM Sick Sad World* My husband is sitting at his desk in the living room, iTunes piping through his earbuds, mouse click-click-clicking. Less than two feet away, I’m on the couch tapping away on my laptop. Both of us are as reasonably hard at work as two moderately obsessed workaholics can be on a Sunday. I have a question for my lovely groom. What do I do? I log into MSN and send him an instant message. He responds. I send a response to his response. We conduct an entire conversation while being close enough to touch without ever actually talking. For a nano second, it occurs to me this might be a sign of the apocalypse – or at least the end of communication, romance and family life as we know it. Then it occurs to me that the voice in my head that said that belonged to some amalgamation of my parents. And that MY voice was saying, “Hehehe. Cool, man.” (My inner voice tends to sound disturbingly like Bart Simpson.) And it IS cool. Through the miracle of internet communication, my husband and I carry on never-ending conversations, all day, every day. I know how his day is going long before he shows up at the dinner table, all through five or six words blips exchanged once or twice every couple of hours. Earth shattering, meaningful commentary? No. But a pleasant connection that eases the workday-workout-crazy-commute separations. Usually something like this – Him, 10:02: Damn meetings. AFK ‘til lunch. Me, 10:03: K. Don’t forget to take your vitamins. Him, 12:52: We’re out of peanut butter. I had to take a ham and jelly sandwich. Me, 12:53: Gross. Him, 12:54: Surprisingly not. Me, 2:36: Spaghetti for dinner. Meat sauce or meatballs? Him, 2:43: Both! Me, 4:09: My toe hurts. It’s looking a little green. That’s bad isn’t it? What does gangrene look like? Him, 4:10: Maybe it’s toe cancer. Me, 4:11: It’s not toe cancer. Him, 4:12: Jesus, I’ve got 5 meetings tomorrow. FIVE. Me, 6:02: There’s no such a thing as toe cancer, right? Me, 6:03: RIGHT?!? Him, 6:04: All I do is go to meetings. Me, 6:05: That’s it. I’m Googling it. Him, 7:23: I’m on my way home. Me, 7:24: I’ll try not to die of toe cancer before you get here. I always thought it would be nice if we worked together. And the thing is, we kind of do. Total time spent sending messages in a day? Maybe five minutes, less than the old-fashioned cigarette breaks. Value of keeping connected? Priceless. “Technology rocks, man. Cowabunga.” *Extra credit for getting this pop culture reference. Read/Post Comments (4) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top