Two days have gone by without any mail in my snail mailbox. I don't ever remember this happening before. No bills, no ads, no catalogs. What am I doing wrong? Is my mailman hiding mail in his garage so he can go drink during the day? Actually stuff like that used to happen in the old days, when so many mailmen were WWII vets that the government hired to give them employment. They were very lenient toward untoward behavior. After all, these guys fought for our country and if they had some faults, well, it could be overlooked. But no more. Every paper clip has to be in place for government jobs now. I ought to know, as a Supervisor I used to force employees out the door on a regular basis. Not for the post office. But in a tax-payer supported department. It wasn't fun, but that is the reality of the job market today. There is always someone ready to take your place.
Except in my blog, nobody wants this job. Friends and family can't understand the allure of regular writing, especially for an audience that averages one per day. I have to just write for me.
I do still pen-pal. Yes, sit down with pen and paper and write original letters to people in far-flung locations, stamp it, put it in a mail box, wait two weeks, a month or more for an answer. Then do it all over again. Some folks prefer not to use e-mail. And there is something material about holding the paper in your hand that came from afar. Foreign stamps on the envelope are fun too. But it all adds up to writing. Getting those words out of my head. And throwing them out there.
Let the letters speak about my life.