The Postman Always Rings Twice, I Just Don't Answer

When I was a kid I thought getting mail was the shiz-nit. Having no particular reason to receive mail except for on my birthday (no pen-pals or whatnot), my mom used to let me have all of the "Resident" mail. This was, of course, nothing but meaningless crap. But to me, those worthless mailers somehow established me as an individual in my crowded house. If the Post Office knew about me, well then, that was really something! I was never one to get hung up over the fact that the mail I got to open didn't actually have my name on it, or in any way indicate that the Post Office had a clue who I was. To me it was enough to open my "letters" and flaunt my importance at being such a snazzy mail-getting individual in front of my siblings.

Somewhere along the way I managed to establish myself in the Post Office's eyes, and now I get loads of meaningless crap with my name emblazoned all over it. It's one of the great ironies of my life that nowadays I really can't be bothered to read any of it.

For several years now I've made a practice of storing up all of my mail for the entire month. I do a cursory glance through when I pick it up - just to make sure there isn't anything odd I need to pay attention to (like photo-cop traffic tickets - damn them!). And then at the end of the month, generally around bill-paying time, I'll sit down to an orgy of coupons and J Crew catalogs.

People generally look at me funny when I mention that I can't go out because I have to read my mail. But there are many pros to this plan.

1. Time-sensitive offers (50% off THIS Weekend ONLY) hold no sway over me
2. One time trash run, instead of slowly filling up the bin
   
3. Able to compare and contrast fashion catalogs more easily
4. Bills and statements are all in one spot and can be easily stuffed in their drawer en masse
5. Don't get caught up reading a new catalog when I should be doing something important like watching Seinfeld reruns.

I really enjoy procrastinating my mail reading. Recently though, I've been a bit too neglectful and didn't keep to my usual monthly schedule. The last time I read it was at the end of May. Which means I haven't paid any attention to my mail for the ENTIRE SUMMER!



Staring at this pile is a bit daunting. (don't worry, no bills in there -- I hope -- I'm all auto-pay these days. It's fantastic. If you haven't turned over your responsibilities to the internet yet, might I strongly suggest that you join us in the twenty-first century? It's quite lovely here. Lovely and responsibility free.)

I suppose I should get started going through this pile. I'm sorry if you've sent me any cards or other bit of friendly mail this summer. I promise that once I've excavated it you'll get lovely reply sometime before the New Year. I'd promise to get it to you earlier, but it might take a solid week to make it through this pile. After which, I'm sure I'll be so sick of printed material I'll have to take a break from it for a few months. Then I can write you back. Or maybe I'll just send you an email. Yeah, email sounds much better.