I know, I know, it's horrible. It's unprofessional. It's annoying to the two friends I have left who don't like texting.
You probably saw this tweet floating around a few months ago:
You see, I do not like the phone. Oh, it is a wonderful invention, and I am rarely without mine. But I would much rather people knock on my door unexpectedly than call me unexpectedly. Also, it's impossible for me to be on the phone while on baby duty, and with a kiddo who rarely naps, what am I to do? The phone is pointless. My ringer is never on. I can text you when I'm rocking the boy to sleep, but call you? Sigh.
I don't like making calls, though I will happily meet you at the coffee shop. I can't believe I used to have a job that involved cold calling potential interview subjects (back in my CBS days). I do remember the absolute fear that would envelop me every time I had to pick up the receiver. Somehow I got over it back then, probably creating my own sort of cognitive behavioral therapy, wherein I gave myself a pep talk every time and tried to convince myself that, much like the snake, the callers were much more afraid of me than I was of them.
That just doesn't work anymore, and I pretty much want to throw my phone into the sea, complete with all those imaginary post-its.
Before the Wee Boy was born, I was better about the phone. The Phone Fear got me good after he was born, however, and it's pretty much the biggest remaining symptom of my PPD. I really need to do something about, as I know I've angered people and probably lost some gigs because of the fear.
Anyway, I am trying to address this, but it's much more daunting than the, um, 364 unread emails. I think it's probably easier to just delete them all and really, really, really try to be better about future voicemails.
Ugh. Boo to Brigid!