MHC II

I've never gotten accustomed to the fact that there is no dial tone whenever I use a cell phone. As a child I would pick up the phone just to listen to the dual tones that gently leaked out of the receiver. I always wondered what was on the other end. Perhaps there were two whispering neighbors or it was the accumulation of all the sounds and secrets that had ever been spoken into the mouth piece, reflected, reverberated, and transmigrated through sentience and consciousness into little vibrations in my ear drum. This vortex of vacuity, penetration, dependence, loneliness, excitement, bringer of bad news, proclaimer of awkward adolescence.

Or maybe I just liked holding the phone, or was so bored that I pretended to have conversations that went like this:
"Hello, Operator? Give me number 9"
or
"Yes, my baby just got bitten by a poisonous snake. Yes, I know she's going to if I don't get her to the hospital soon. I already tried sucking out the venom! What do you mean they're on their crumbcake break!"

Like the time when we hummed to replicate the dual drone of the refrigerator.

I've lost track of whether or not the last few sentences made any grammatical sense, but it matters not. Am I forcibly manifesting this feeling internal dislocation into an external one? Not feeling creative.

I'll be leaving this Wednesday for Europe.

Packing list:
Notebook
Pen
Ele

What to remember to leave behind:
Sense of self-loathing/tendency to self-efface
Second-hand memories