For almost a year I repeated a sort of mantra in my head. June 19. June 19. The day I was to finally get my iPhone. Every time my phone froze. Every time it dropped a call. Every time I lost voice mails and texts. Almost every day. I know, I know, it is a phone. There were days when no one had a cell phone, or if they did, it was larger than a two month old baby. So in the grand scheme of things, an extra superdy duper phone is you know, not that important.
My sisters live far, far away. My dear Jess lives far, far away. Awesome friends live not five, ten, 15 minutes away, and I like to talk to them all.
I love taking photos. You may have noticed. I take a whole LOT of photos. And I both feel the need and want to edit those photos. So I get behind, not wanting clients to wait on their photos, and my photos wait. And sit. Unshared and unloved in a mass of plastic and metal and electronics I cannot even begin to understand. THAT is what I love most about my iPhone. I don't have to lug big birtha around with me to capture priceless memories. Out comes the camera app. Edited and shared seconds later with Instagram.
It is like a weight is lifted off my shoulders.
So thank you people for having that cool brain that comes up with this stuff. You pretty much rock.