I've seen these people. You seen these people. The ones with two pagers and a cell phone on their belt and another cell phone held up to their faces--the one they're talking on at that moment. These people might have four people trying to communicate with them at any moment. These people are connected.

I don't own a cell phone. Or a pager. Unless something very strange happens in my life, I don't think I ever will. I've already resolved not to take any job that would require my using any sort of remote communication device. Basically, I don't want to contacted by even one person at a time when I'm under the illusion that I'm alone.

There's nothing quite like solitude, particularly when I'm in the midst of a bunch of people. If I don't know them, I'm alone. And I'm happy. I don't want to share that moment with anyone else. Period.

In these days of unemployment, I have some free time on my hands. After applying for jobs, writing a while on my novel, reviewing a few records, brewing some beer and maybe eating a little something, I often still manage to find a little free time. Maybe I'll read a book, or maybe I'll play a little Civilization II or Sim City 3000. Maybe I'll head out into the backyard and rake up some late-falling gum balls. That's alright with me.

But if someone calls, all of a sudden I feel the need to justify my actions. I'm one of those people who always misinterprets small talk, answering such questions as "what's up?" with a windy discourse on just how I got a particular stain on my jeans. So when my wife calls up and asks what I'm doing, I tell her. And I judge whatever I'm doing much more harshly than she does.

Generally, Barbara doesn't care if I play computer games or otherwise goof off, as long as I've accomplished something constructive during the day. I tend to work in bursts of energy followed by moments of rest to recoup my resources. It's just that I hate to say "I just got enough money to extend the subway under the river!" as some sort of description of my activities, even if that might be accurate.

These moments of stress come when I'm at home, where there I can be reached by phone and e-mail and AOL IM (jworley666--feel free to chat if I'm up). When I'm not at home, I don't want to be reached. This applies to when I'm lifting at the Y, perusing the shelves at one of Durham's many fine bookstores or sifting through the used bins at a record shop (or both, which is possible at a few stores), picking up groceries, grabbing a six pack of fine brew, snagging a two-liter of tamarind soda or simply driving to nowhere because that made sense at the time.

When I'm at home, I often don't want people to holler at me. When I leave my domicile, I feel like I've entered a communication-free zone. And so, if I see someone I know on my journeys, I'm often thrown off. I hope they don't take my initial discomfort as displeasure. I'm happy to see them. It's just that I wasn't expecting to be social, and it takes me a few seconds to rev up the ol' communication engines.

Some would argue that if I picked up a pager or a cell phone (or both, as lots of folks seem to do) that I'd be better prepared for the unexpected social situation. Maybe my friends would see me as something other than a befuddled and spacey acquaintance.

Thing is, I kinda like leaving that impression. And I really don't want to give up my precious moments of solitude just so someone can call and ask me "What's up?" I have a nightmare where I'm walking in a mall (that thought alone is usually enough to make me break out in a cold sweat) and someone calls, asking that very question. I happen to be passing Victoria's Secret or something, and I take the query literally...

See, there are things that other folks just don't need to know. I'm not smart enough to figure that out on my own. I need enforced solitude to make sure that I don't embarrass other people with my own silly weirdness (I myself don't embarrass very easily at all). I don't want to be connected. I want to be left alone.

Unless, of course, I don't. I just like to be the one making that choice.

A few weeks ago, a friend handed Jon Worley a cell phone and asked him to make a call. He couldn't figure out how to work the thing and ended up simply playing "Yankee Doodle" on the keys.