fear of phones

If you've known me for a while, you've probably figured out that I have a slight phobia about phones, specifically about placing phone calls, especially in a social setting, but sometimes in a personal "getting things done" way too. It all started somehow when Mark died. I'm not sure exactly what started because I didn't have any trouble calling him, even when the news wasn't so great. But when he died, something snapped, and it hasn't gone back to its correct shape. It might never. I should note that this little quirk is not always easy on my friends, which makes it even harder for me.

The odd thing is that I'm fine with receiving phone calls. (I love getting calls!). I can make phone calls at work. I can make phone calls when I know the person isn't there and I can leave a message so that they will call me back. I can easily send email and often feel irritated if that's not an option. (What do you mean my grandmother refuses to get on the internet?). I sometimes even pick up the phone and call someone, especially if I think they're hurting. It's a big deal to me, but I try not to make it a big deal for anyone else.

And so... after our mild winter, I left work one really cold day to find that one of my car's front lights had gone out, at least my car's helpful info panel said as much. And I waited and waited to call the car place, where they're really nice, to make an appointment. I waited until I also needed an oil change and I needed -- oh yes, it turns out that my brake light was coming on too, but only on cold days when I accelerated through a right turn so that I didn't realize that I also needed new brakes.

One night I was on the verge -- really I was -- of making an appointment when Robert mentioned that he had an appointment to have his car fixed. So I spent my phone-and-car energy making sure he had a ride to and from the station that day and we also got his car back and forth to the repair place. OK, I wasn't suffering that much -- the train station is about two miles away and the car place is just between the train station and home. I don't want it to sound like I'm whining.

So I finally made the appointment. I remember that I didn't call -- I just dropped by, and they made it very easy and pleasant as they always do. On the day of the appointment, I borrowed Robert's car for the day, drove him back and forth to the train station, and all was well.

Then about two weeks later, I turned on my car and the helpful info panel said that one of the rear lights had gone out. I've lived with it, meaning to make an appointment.

Today has been a little dark, so on my way home from the day's adventures, I turned on the car lights and got that helpful little reminder. As soon as I got home, before I could not do it, I called the repair place. The guy who answered said that he didn't know what kind of bulb the car took, and that if they had it in stock, it wouldn't take long to fix. However, if they didn't have it in stock, they'd need to order it, blah blah blah, and really, it might be easier if I made an appointment.

I asked if they were busy, and he said not particularly. I asked if I could swing by and if they could just check the bulb. He said sure (I imagine he had more important things to do and wanted to get me off the phone.)

I arrived and was greeted sweetly by one of the owners ("Hi there. I don't remember what kind of car you drive but I should"). They brought my car in, found that it takes a bulb that they had in stock, discovered another bulb that was about to go, and replaced them both. And charged me $3.68.

I exaggerated a little earlier. I have improved about the phone since Mark died. But I don't always pick up the phone when I really should, just sometimes. Sometimes it takes a while.