Death of a Palm: a fantasy

I wrote about some data I lost on my Palm a while back, and how it was a pain in the keester. I thought I’d recovered most of my important appointments, until this afternoon when my oncologist’s office called to tell me I’d missed my appointment (an hour ago). It was an appointment that didn’t exist as far as my Palm was concerned.

You might have heard the wailing and gnashing of teeth. It didn’t last long though. I had something I could focus on – something I could assign blame (cue the dark/dramatic music): the Palm.

Something you may not know about me: I hate missing appointments. It’s like I’m breaking a promise, only in this case it’s worse because it’s a promise that’s potentially costing someone (of the ‘else’ variety) money. If any of you suffer from low self esteem, sometimes you may feel like your only redeeming quality is your word. Imagine how it would feel to lose that too? Normally I have no place to focus this anger but myself; a bout of self-loathing that can last a good little while. So what’s it like now, when my Palm can share some of this blame? It’s not a good day to be a PDA that’s already disappointed me.

What’s worse, I had this flash from a conversation I had with Cheryl a few weeks back. I was taking orders for a sandwich run, and I (smuggly) eschewed paper in favor of my Palm. “Why create waste when I’ve got a perfectly good PDA that’s made for taking and keeping notes?” It’s like I was asking for bad luck… begging even.

At first I thought I might conjure up some suitably violent, fictional end for my Palm. Instead, I think I need to focus on coaxing out every last bit of good juju I can get.


Give the gift of words.