It is so very pleasant to be able to pick up the phone and be able to talk to my mother. It’s the most bracing luxury. It is a luxury, a luxury to think that the people and machines that keep the phones running will always be there, will never be distracted by anything else. And yet bracing, for when my day darkens and my drears get all bleary, I can contemplate easily calling my mother, and even if I don’t call her, it’s still a bracing thought.
Murmle mushy pancreatic implosions of daughterly joy. Snirf, ack, ptui.
