I am back to work.
I really don’t feel like being here. Which should surprise absolutely no one.
The wonderful guys of IMD had raised the limit in my email box to something short of the sky to avoid the bouncing bytes.
All 636 pieces of it, not counting the attachments.
When I first wrote the above, I was simply going to say mailbox, giving me suddenly the reminder of exactly how far our culture has come. When all of us with grey hair were growing up, the mailbox was on a post at the end of the driveway, or fastened to the side of the house. If you lived in a real neighborhood with a postman, your mail was deposited through a slit through the door.
Packages were not part of the deal.
Certainly the post office handled them, but I don’t remember any ever arriving at our house.
Mail Order meant the Sears & Robucks Catalog or Penny’s (if you had more money).
People wrote letters and cards routinely. Calls outside the local area were quite expensive, not to even mention the thought of talking about anything personal while the other parties on the line tried to listen in without being caught.
Now, mailbox is email. Mail is snail mail and I have to talk about regular post in order to communicate with my youngest offspring.
Given all of that – it certainly is easier and more environmentally friendly to delete over 100 spam than it is to haul out 100 pieces of junk mail.
I am just trying to find the positive since I am so tired and not really thrilled to be back, facing all the work that arrived in y absence.