Before I cared about the internet, receiving letters by mail (as in…mailbox..postal) was so exciting. Then a few too many businesses learned my name and ruined everything. It’s bad enough to recieve bills all all week. Junk mail should be illegal.
Department stores– I don’t care about your 15% off casual coordinates sale. Auto Dealerships — I’m not “visiting” on Saturday to see if a magic key or whatever is compatible with the car of my dreams. (I already found it, thank you.) And really, cars aren’t one of those items people run out and buy. Credit Cards — Is there anything more annoying? Week after week, you overwhelm my mailbox with thinly veiled lies. Think of how much PLASTIC is wasted spamming everyone with personal pre-made credit cards which were not asked for or even agreed upon. Creepy.
As annoying as this all may be,
mail can also be one of life’s simple pleasures.
Once in a while I’ll have a good day, one that reminds me of why I used to run home after school to check the mailbox. An unexpected surprise!!!!!! : an envelope with my name on it, written by hand. The whole world stops for a moment. Handwritten letters. Postcards. Surprise packages.
It means so much.
Mediocre news (“Things here are pretty good. I watched some tv last night. The leaves are starting to fall earlier than usual this year.”) reads like a peice off the Bestseller List. Sentences which would otherwise sound incoherent transform into meaningful information.
Because in this “real-time” world of text messages, emails, comments, and quickie phone calls, writing someone by hand is the message in itself. Handwritten letters are genuine; no sense in blowing air up someone’s ass through snail mail. Compliments are not offered hastily for the purpose of reciprocation.
Everything, especially the nice things, in this envelope are sincere admissions. Someone was thinking of you, so much that they sat down and bled it ink, sealed it up and sent it away.