Last night as I rode home on Scottie Scooterson, just after passing through the Stockton Boulevard and T Street intersection, the antique that is my cell phone flew out of my pocket and was dashed upon the asphalt. (Disclaimer: a pocket is not the normal, nor preferred, spot for carrying a cell phone while riding on a scooter. It was the first time I had done that, and shall be the last.)

Immediately I stopped, pulled to the side of the road and looked back. There lie the cell phone: on the double yellow line in the center of the street. Without thinking about the best way to maneuver (i.e., park Scottie), I turned around, pulled up next to the massacred cell phone, leaned down and picked it up. Surprisingly, the phone was in tact, but missing its battery. I glanced around the intersection, but didn’t see the 1 x 1.5-inch gray square anywhere on the ground. Cars seemed to speed toward me, and I zipped away before causing traffic confusion.

As I rode, I resigned myself to being phone-less for a few days until I was able to get a replacement. (I’ve been threatening to get an iPhone for weeks. But it does feel like a huge financial commitment.) Mental notes: send email to family letting them know what happened, separate email to business contacts and associates, direct message people on twitter, borrow a phone if necessary. Not ideal, but definitely doable…

When I arrived to have dinner with my boyfriend (yes, boyfriend), and I told him about what happened, he said, “let’s circle back to look for the battery.” I agreed, albeit reluctantly, and we took his car.

There’s no way that tiny piece of plastic is going to be there, and if it is, it’s probably already been smashed by a car running over it.

(That’s what was going on inside my head.)

We got to the intersection and pulled over. Both of us got out of the car and walked up and down opposite sides of the street. If you’re not familiar with this spot, it’s kind of a wonky intersection: Stockton Boulevard and T Street intersect more at a diagonal, and coming from the west there is a small side street that has access to Stockton via T Street. It’s almost a 5-way intersection. So if you are approaching Stockton from the west, there is a left turn lane, a straight lane and a KEEP CLEAR section at the light.

Since the phone had landed in the middle of the street, I tried looking for the battery in the same area. There were cars in the turn lane and I scanned the double yellow line along the tires waiting for the green light. I was looking for smashed pieces of plastic. But nothing was there. When the cars pulled away, I went to the middle of the street, walked the line, and scanned both sides for smashed plastic.

Even if the thing wasn’t smashed, it’s so tiny and light gray that if it landed on white paint in the KEEP CLEAR section, it will barely stand out. And it’s getting dark. And yet here I am, walking in the middle of the street of one of the busiest intersections in Sacramento.

In spite of my inner monologue, I kept walking up and down the yellow line, glancing back and forth in either direction to watch for oncoming traffic. I secretly wished that cars would come so that we could call it quits.

This is ridiculous.

Then I spotted a square plastic thing. I walked directly to it, picked it up and walked to the other side of the road.

“Is that it?” he said.
“Yep.”
“Well done.”

We got back in the car.

“This is kind of a metaphor for your life right now.”
“My cell phone?”
“Finding the battery — you found it. You didn’t give up. See what a little extra effort got you?”

For many months now I have bemoaned the fact that working and/or writing in isolation is, for me, not fun. There’s something about having people around that make sitting in front of a computer all day less like having daily rations shoved at you through a slot in the door while in solitary confinement.

Even if I don’t have a single conversation all day, I’d rather be surrounded by people, natural light, vintage tunes and peripheral conversation. I’d rather hear bits and pieces of discussion, answer a quick question or ask my own question than have no one other than Sydney (my cat) to talk to. Usually I’m telling her to shut up all day long anyway because she won’t. Seriously, she meows all day long. She’s the most vocal cat I know.

Here’s a perfect example: the other day something I was writing required reference to the Super Bowl. Being decidedly an un-sports-fan (go ahead, hate me if you must), I don’t think I’ve ever actually written the words. Hence, the following conversation:

Me: Is “super bowl” one word or two?
Jason: I don’t know, have you bing’d it?
Me: Bing?
Jason: It’s a search engine.
Me: (check bing.com) Bing says it’s two words.
Jason: (subsequently tweets exchange)

Viola — two new things learned.

So whether other writers feel the need to work in community, it matters not — some writers need it more than others, some don’t need it at all. Regardless, on Thursday last week I simply invited writers to work for a day at The Urban Hive. There’s also a social networking group for Sacramento-area writers called Writers Who Wine that I just so happen to be a member of (no coincidence there), and the monthly event was on the same day as the Writer’s Workday (no coincidence there, either, thanks to JT Long and Jennifer Basye Sanders).

The day couldn’t have worked out any better, and I plan to host it again next month. We had something like 15 new people through the space in one day, and more people who weren’t able to make it expressed interest in the concept. A funky-artsy place to set up laptop for cat-interruption-less hours of typing away on an essay, webcomic or blog post — what writer wouldn’t love it? I haven’t met one yet.

While folding my laundry last night, I couldn’t help but notice how mountain-fresh the clothes smelled straight from the dryer.

“Huh,” I thought. “No wonder Mom uses Bounce.”

I kept folding with the following internal monologue:

Bounce makes the clothes smell SO good. Not to mention the anti-static cling factor. Nice. Wait a second, what’s this? This is not a Bounce dryer sheet. Oh, yeah, I ran out of Bounce and grabbed these things called “lavender dryer bags.” They were right next to the laundry detergent at Trader Joe’s. Weird. When did I stop using Bounce? I like these things better. They smell way better than Bounce. They give my clothes a distinct smell. Why did I use Bounce for so long?

Because it’s what Mom always used.

When I went away to college, I had to buy my own dryer sheets for the first time. I bought Bounce. Partly because it was an easy choice. I didn’t have to try to figure out what to buy, I just stuck with what I knew. It was habit. But I bought Bounce mostly because it’s what my mom used, and I wanted my mommy.

After college, I kept buying Bounce. This time definitely out of habit. It’s one of those things like shampoo or deodorant, you just always buy the same stuff. Why change a good thing? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, yadda, yadda, yadda. It’s also a comfort thing. But comfort can be dangerous.

When you’re comfortable for too long, it turns into complacency. And complacency is dangerously close to apathy. Isn’t apathy what happens when you do things without thinking about them? You lose interest. You lose passion because before long, you don’t even know why you do the things you do. Like buying Bounce for years — if you don’t try anything new, you may never discover the sheer joy of a lavender dryer bag.

The month of July kicked my ass. Big time. (For proof, see previous post.) And I’m still recovering. (For proof, listen to me: cough, cough, cough…)

It wasn’t more than a week ago that I was telling a friend that it just seems like I’ll never make it. Right now I have to do about 27 other jobs besides writing to make a living. And even then, sometimes I don’t make enough to make a living. It seems like I’ll never be just a writer.

Because of the hell-that-was-July (in spite of my fabulous Throwback Swing Dance birthday party), I’ve been behind on a bunch of shit, including (but not limited to) reading blogs. Big surprise. So, today, I was taking a few minutes to catch up on some reading that’s usually good for inspiration.

Not sure that was such a good idea.

Reading this reminded me what and absolutely insane idea it is to be a writer. Ugh. Will someone please smack me upside the head and tell me to get a real job?