not even a weekly copy of the new yorker can coax me into that metal structure affixed to my house. overdrafts for my former roommate, credit card offers, coupons for hamburger helper ... all of the bills that are not a part of my intricate triage system are either a) taken directly from my account; b) payable online; c) garnished. the ones that come in the mail do not interest me. and although i recently received a christmas card from briguy, i don't usually get handwritten letters, boxes of oatmeal raisin cookies or special trinkets from amazon.com. so, aside from the new yorker, there is no reason to dig the key out of wherever the hell i lost it and take time to open my mailbox. at least not more than once a month.
i should note that i also accidentally subscribe to rolling stone. i'm not sure how it happened or who pays for it or how my address ended up on the label. but i get rolling stone, which i deem inferior to paste -- and its monthly 20-song cd sampler -- and so receiving rolling stone is actually a deterent against collecting my mail. it just disappoints me.
when i was first getting into blockbuster.com, i checked it regularly. but then i lost three discs of season three of felicity somewhere in my car and so my queue lies neglected.
i was awake at an ungodly hour today and happened to run into my mail carrier as he was trying to stuff more mail into my abandoned box.
"is that mine?" i asked him.
"yikes," i said.
his arms were teeming with mail. pounds and pounds of paper.
i know that people judge you based on circumstances. but he came up with the most clever deduction today, based on my mailbox. he handed me the mound and asked:
"are you a truck driver?"