I Am An iPad Widow
Posted: Tuesday, December 13, 2011
by Octavia Hansen
Octavia Hansen
Not to subtract from the seriousness of being a widow but I now know the loss and emptiness every woman feels at this time in her life. There is no getting away from this. I made myself into an iPad widow.
I blame myself. I thought I was doing my husband a favor -- it would make his life easier, more organized, keep him connected. Too connected. As the adage goes: If I knew then what I know now . . . I would have punched Steve Jobs in his high tech nose, bolted wheels on either end of the electronic widow-maker, and skate boarded my way across every nasty road surface until the gadget was sanded out of existence . . . my existence anyway.
This brings to mind everything I have ever heard and laughed at:
No good deed goes unpunished;
Behind every silver lining is dark cloud;
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
The list goes on and I'm still kicking myself with the force of windmill blades spinning in a tornado.
He carries it around. He's never without it. When I finally have had enough, I'm going to name the iPad as co-respondent in the divorce case. Apple will be held accountable for the alienation of affection. Oh, if I could pull some hair, throw some beverage in someone's face or back hand anyone I could physically hold responsible, I'll end up hitting myself.
When we recently took a trip to the mountains (of which I thought would quietly maneuver us out of any communication signals), the iPad was a smuggled stowaway in the suitcase bottom 'just in case' it could connect. I'm surprised emergency services didn't make a trek up the slopes when my frustrated banshee cries echoed through those peaks in shear exasperation. Since we were at the bottom of the Rocky Mountains in Northern Arizona, I can imagine the sound is still bouncing around the hillsides, confusing mountain goats and miners all the way up to Canada.
This was NOT my idea of a threesome. Even though I think I'm part of this intellectual triangle, I don't think he gives me enough thought to be in competition for his attention. And I did it to myself!
At first it was innocuous enough . . . a quick check of store times, menus, an email here and there. Then a few books crept into this ever growing sphere of his attention and my neglect. Then it was a newspaper . . . or two . . . or three, a magazine, broadcast news, the weather -- creeping . . . forever creeping into what used to be shared minutes of our days together. Netflix now broadcasts movies immediately -- it never ends. I think Netflix is also going to be named in the divorce.
And the APPS never quit. I knew I was in real trouble when two mysterious publications appeared on the kitchen counter . . . an APPS directory and the iPad bible. Great -- now it's a new religion. I never thought he was the kind to be captured by a cult, but there it was. The new guru. The latest focal point of the universe. Considering instant communications are supposed to connect everyone everywhere, I have never felt so alone, especially when beside him on a couch or sitting across a small restaurant table or driving endless miles across the desert.
I have never before been in such sympathy with Computer Widows and Football Widows. Many years ago I would sometimes hear women complain about loss of attention, giving little thought to the lost hours and their tears behind it. Surely these women knew their men were that way before they married. It's not like the guys woke up one day, focused on a computer screen or television and became zombies. These guys had always been this way. The ladies hadn't realized that they were only a temporary distraction. Mine was different. His electronic god was of my own making. If I could have seen this cult religion in the making, I could have exorcized it . . . but just as a destructive disease, only early diagnosis could have saved him. But no, from the moment he unwrapped this little plastic devil on his birthday, it began to devour his brain. He didn't have a chance, and I didn't either.
The silence has become almost unendurable. Lately, I insist we take separate cars to our mutual destination. At least this way I can play music and sing all the way there, since he's not in the car he is excused from conversation, sometimes I listen to the radio just to have another voice chattering my general direction, lending me new ideas, at least a voice different from my own. And I know at least when he is driving, he's not on the iPad. A sly way I have of at least making him put it down, if not turning it off.
I like to think of myself as an interesting person. I have fifty plus years of comedy, human relations, education and travel ready to relate in story and song. I sometimes talk to people in checkout lines, making them laugh, having them tell me about their lives, their plans, the news or weather. I think people really want to talk but there is less and less opportunity to connect. Sometimes, when I go to parties, I play this game . . . talk to everyone, learn all their names, but don't introduce myself or talk about myself. There have been a lot of parties where I know simply everyone, but no one can recall my name -- only that a red-haired lady was incredibly interesting to talk to, and they did. Anyway, being able to verbally banter or joust requires constant practice, like a gymnast on a balance beam or a runner in a marathon. People skills only work with people. Talking to an empty room is a big waste, no matter how clever you are.
And every woman I have ever met who stays in any relationship, always bemoans the 'good old days' when the couple was new and they actually talked, when they were interested in each other. Same here. When we were new, we couldn't talk enough. Maybe interest in any other human being besides yourself is finite. No matter how exciting and new, when the shine wears off, when it becomes common place, even in a good relationship, there is nothing to say.
Men and women have been proven to have different communication skills. Still, I can't help but wonder if that's just an average, but not the norm. Surely in a superior mind or an exciting life, there is always something to talk about.
In the last few months, I have fallen into silence . . . at least with him. At one point he said I needed to cultivate more female friends. I already have that. Evidently, he thinks he is the only one who talks to me. He's the most important, but he's not the only one. Lately, I question everything. I married late. I took my time choosing. I married because I wanted to . . . I didn't need to . . . didn't have to. Most of the men who asked, I said 'No.' Now I question, if I have to find other people to talk and laugh with . . . why do I need him at all?
Maybe it's not the iPad at all . . . maybe it's just us.
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