This is the sad tale of a millennial without a phone. For 16 hours.

It was a day like any other.

I text a few times, I Snapchat, I refresh Facebook.

Work flies by, and my phone – Isabelle – is loved much less than usual.

I visit the gym after work, and my screen unattaches from its body. Panic.

I thank my lucky stars that my gym is by my house, because Lord knows I wouldn’t have been able to make it home from downtown without a GPS in under three hours.

I get home. I try and squish my screen back into existence, crushing little shards of glass as I go. No dice.

I lay in bed, staring at the phone on the counter. No Instagram. No daily feed of funny pictures. No idea what events are on Facebook (side note, I did crack open my laptop for the last one). No Snapchat stories.

I think about what I’m going to do with my spare time.

A few tears escape my eyes.

I pick up a book. I read a few chapters (thanks, Nicholas Sparks). I think about how glad I am that I didn’t download this book digitally or spring for the audiobook, instead.

I watch Netflix. On a TV, because my Netflix app is indisposed.

I think about how many people are probably trying to contact me, or have been in accidents, or urgently need my help, or have a once-in-a-lifetime million-dollar job offer that expires in five minutes.

I lay down at 9PM, with no hours to blow on perusing social media.

I hope Lamar and Khloe didn’t choose tonight to make a public statement about how they’re getting back together, because I will surely miss it.

I come to the shocking realization that I have no alarm clock. I have no way to wake up for work.

I say a quick prayer that my body wakes up on its daily clock of 7:30AM, and go to bed fingers crossed.

I wake up at 7:46AM. Close enough. I realize my phone may have a chance, and I drop it off at the phone repair store as soon as they open. There has to be a way.

I am within five days of my warranty, so the repair is free. I am feeling BLESSED, because I already allotted for a lack of social life in my mind with the thought of another 100 dollar repair.

Within two hours, Isabelle is back in my hands. I let out a small gasp of joy when she turns on, glossy screen showing notifications upon notifications. I use praise Jesus emoji hands, and text everyone I know.

Millennial refreshes Instagram. Millennial sends a tweet. Millennial feels connected again.