This morning I went on a run, on my own, outside, in the rain.
The on my own part is important because I find it much more refreshing to run on my own terms than someone else's.
I ran up Queen Anne hill… twice. Because on the first time I didn’t get to the spot I was trying to reach. And the second time I did.
After I ended up in the wrong spot the first time I ran back down the hill so that I could start over and find out where I made a wrong turn. I carried my phone with me so I could listen to Muse and I tucked it into my jacket pocket so I could wipe the rain from my face.
During the 30 seconds it would have been in pocket it managed to fall out within the first 10.
It crashed against the pavement and I reached down to pick it back up, same as I always do if I happen to drop it.
This time was different.
I looked at the screen and realized that the nice sheet of glass that had originally been intact was now separated by various cracks into hundreds of pieces of glass.
You can only drop an IPhone so many times before it has enough.
Dang it. Dang it. Dang it.
I continued running when I realized that the screen at least still responded, and that it continued to work regardless of its fractured state.
When I reached the top of Queen Anne the second time I found the view I was looking for, though it wasn’t as beautiful as I remembered it. This was probably partially due to the phone incident.
After I got back to my dorm the first thing I did was call my Dad, just to let him know. It was birthday present from him, so I felt pretty bad. I did manage to have it for more than a year though, which is fairly impressive since I’ve known people who break theirs within the first few months.
For now I’m just going to keep it as it is—the cracks almost look like butterfly wings.
Chances are, after a few days, I won’t remember how it looked before anyway.