In college, a close friend once broke her phone by slamming it on the ground cause she wanted to pick on her chicken-pox scabs. She'd created some kind of record by the end of three years, of replacing her phones, either out of tantrums, anger, parental tiff, and even out of carelessness. I used to find it fascinating, to see a person go through so many extended version of personal skins; I had replaced two or three personally since the keypad used to give up and back then I was blamed for texting too many people.
In hindsight, you can't ever have too many people in your late teens-early 20s, they always leave when you need people in your corner.
Anyway, it's taking me the patience blessed upon by my forefathers and generations of hardworking people to not throw my phone against the wall. Mostly due to a crusty man and his behaviour towards me lately, but also my other well-wishers, friends, who have sold friendship to the first outlet out.
Lord, grant me the wisdom to not be that girl.
