Well, whatever. It tastes good, anyway.
My plan for the day: Write letters. I've got a bunch of letters I needed to write like a month ago, and today is the day. Right after I do this. I'm not sure why I'm putting it off again. Maybe because I feel like I've got nothing to say.
Not that THAT has ever stopped me.
When did my life stop revolving around letters? It doesn't seem like all that long ago when I would write at least one letter a day--usually more--and the trip to the mailbox was THE highlight of my existence.
I loved writing and receiving letters in high school, but the whole institution was essential during college. Phone calls were expensive. Letters were not. And more often than not, I'd hear from at least one of my friends every day. We were all in the same boat.
Ah, but the agony of not getting a letter that you were expecting. That could ruin an entire day. "Must be a holiday," we'd call out when nothing showed up, because obviously if it wasn't, our mailboxes would be stuffed. (That's college for you.)
My mother used to work in an elementary school, and sometimes one of her small groups would write me letters. They were short and sweet and adorable, and I enjoyed answering them. One time, my mother's co-worker and good friend had one of her small groups send me a package for Halloween, filled with candy. It was awesome. I was the hit of my wing for quite a while after that. No one could believe that package. Not even me.
Eric and I met the summer before our senior year in college. We were across the state from each other, and letters were our main form of communication. I used to write the bulk of my letters to Eric in my Art in the Dark class. (I think technically it was Art Appreciation, but we didn't call it that.) How I got an A in that class I will never know. I didn't buy the text book and I didn't pay attention to the slides the professor was always showing. I just wrote to Eric. He saved all my letters (I have his, too--I put them in a pretty box that's stored in my retreat) so I could even go look to see what dumb things I was writing about RIGHT NOW if I wanted to.
(Curiosity got the best of me. On Nov. 8, 1993 I wrote a letter to Eric about an Art in the Dark test, my music appreciation and Nature of the English Language classes, what our friend Darrin was up to, the neighborhood cat sporting a hot pink collar that I thought should be navy, and how envious everyone was of our crappy apartment. And getting locked out, apparently. No real memory of that, but I suppose that's what letters are for.)
I used to write my letters by hand. Then I got a word processor and that simplified the whole ordeal quite a bit. And also: No writer's cramp that way. Then we got a computer and I was all about email. Now I just check Facebook and click "like" whenever someone writes something that I like.
Sorta boring.
Since I've started blogging, I've heard from several people that they're not hearing from me as often as they used to--which, granted, hasn't been very often at all for a while now. I could list the reasons (job, kids, house, life) but really, it just comes down to this: It's no longer a priority.
But today! Today is the day! Right after I edit this post, and clean my bathroom, and do some laundry.
Kidding! (Probably.)
Arcade Fire, "We Used to Wait." This sums up letters PERFECTLY: It seems strange anekatips*, how we used to wait for letters to arrive. But what's stranger still is how something so small can keep you alive. (A side note: For some reason, this song reminds me of "The Time Traveler's Wife" by Audrey Niffenegger. The book, not the movie.)
*I won't lie, I had to look it up. The definition is long and boring, but it basically means to re-create.
No comments:
Post a Comment