How am I doing without my phone? I'm glad you asked.

Last night while out at the prison rodeo, my phone slipped from my hand and was trampled by a fifteen hundred pound piece of meat named "Red Apocalypse." I was leaning over the railing yelling "Flip that convict, Red Meat," so I blame the loss of my Google PIxel 8 Pro squarely on myself. A replacement is coming, but you would not believe my life without it.

The change was immediate. On the car ride home I could not listen to any of my music without my phone connecting to the bluetooth. My wife decided to connect hers and play her favorite playlist. I humored her like a good husband for the first seven songs or so, but the sounds of Canadian Scottish Death metal bands like Maple Death and The Great Black North made me yearn for my T-Swift.

When we got hom, the location function usually turns on the lights and a speaker welcomes me. How am I supposed to enter my house in the dark without a British man saying "Welcome home, you big dick champion?" My wife turned on the lights and said the words, but it was not the same.

As we prepared for bed, my kids asked for a story. Usually, I program my phone to read some dumb kids story, but now I had to read it. I struggled through the first half of Jack and Jill before getting my dad's copy of "The Battle of Iwo Jima: Blood and Balls and Bayonets." Those men knew how to get up a hill.

After the kids were asleep, I used my laptop to look around the internet. Google has a messenger service, but it requires the phone to be connected to view text messages. My voicemail does email me transcriptions, but there was nothing there except a dozen messages from my mom and my doctor and a priest. Then I tried to check on social media, but two-factor identification made that impossible.

Getting ready for bed had its own perils. The lights all had to be manually turned on and off. Because my voice had gone hoarse from yelling at the prison rodeo and my wife's from chanting along with her music, the speakers did not recognize our voices. Too bad the kids did not have that trouble. The last reading about the bloody assault was tedious since I could not make my voice reach the panic frenzy the battle frankly deserved.

Then getting my wife to bed. Oh boy. Usually my phone helps with a metronome to keep time and some visual aids on any new positions. We like to stay up-to-date with the new trends. Keep spicy. Plus if I'm not getting video of all the sloppy action, did it even happen? I tried to use her phone, but she has an iPhone, and you know how that is.

After an awkward hour and half of boring, normal yet explosive sex, we started to get ready for bed. I usually listen to a podcast while my wife likes the sounds of thunderstorms. She does not like bringing her phone to the bedroom. Screen-temptation. I totally get it and support her.

So there we were until three in the morning, her talking to me about ancient roman leader Gaius Maximus and his rise to power through manipulation of the Praetor of the Senate. When I was up and she wanted to sleep, I dripped water through a sieve from the bushes outside our window and banged on a thunder sheet. Once we were both trying to help each other, her yelling and me slamming away. We laughed and laughed and decided to just keep having sex until we dropped from exhaustion.

This morning was the hardest. Sure, last night was nice without all the constant vibrations of missed messages, but worse because of the lack of music to wake me up. The alarm not being here really made me late. I had to skip my morning massage with Olaf and only had time for half the courses Alejandra makes for daily brunch.

I made it to my home office fine, work is going well. I got an email that my new phone has shipped, so soon this nightmare will be over.