I decided to write thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Mailbox.
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Dear Mailbox,
As I was brushing my teeth last night, I congratulated myself for actually brushing my teeth last night. Also as I was brushing my teeth last night, I realized that every single one of my teeth were hurting. This could only be explained by two things. I was merely having a dream about brushing my teeth (my dreams have gotten boring while I have been under the influence of unemployment), or the toothpaste I found in the kitchen is not actually toothpaste, but instead yogurt in a tube. From watching the movie “Inception” 14 times, I knew the only guaranteed way to confirm I was not dreaming would be to die. But then if I were wrong, I would be dead. That would suck. So I decided to just eat whatever was in the tube. Thankfully, Mailbox, it turned out to be yogurt. But by the time I figured out I was not dreaming I was too tired to get real toothpaste, so I went to bed. Mailbox, I hope the conversation we had today was not just a dream. Imagine how insane I would sound if I told people what we talked about didn’t actually happen!
Anyway Mailbox, I decided a few weeks ago that “walk” is a very boring word. On my saunter this morning down to Pharmacy, I saw your lower lip sadly flapping in the wind. I may avoid listening to strangers’ sob stories, but I have a heart, Mailbox, so I asked you what’s wrong. You told me that in the past few years, you feel like you have lost your way. You used to be highly respected, for you used to transport all of life’s important documents: bills, invitations, boarding passes, and acceptance letters. Now with interwebs, you’ve been reduced to transporting junk mail, crappy movies on Netflix, and the occasional postcard from Malastan.
Mailbox, I understand. Just last year, I was on a 47-hour flight back from Dubai, writing a thesis about shit no one will ever read. I was doing productive-ish things, wearing socks that matched-ish, and saying intelligent-ish things! But this past year, I have been reduced to staring at computer, waiting for an email saying I got rejected for a job I didn’t even want in the first place. That used to be you, Mailbox! I used to get my rejections from you! And when the inevitable bad news came, it would be you that took the punch – literally! My parents had to buy three of you my senior year of high school. But now Mailbox, you only bring me joy! So I am writing this letter addressed to you, Mailbox, so you can open it up and understand how sadly dependent on Netflix I am.
Now Mailbox, I am also going to write something that may not be easy for you to hear. Though you contain envelopes and packages that sustain us victims of unemployment, it is also true that you may have reached your peak in life. I’m sure whoever created you had high hopes for your future, and indeed, you have served so many so well. However, in the case that interwebs are here to stay, please know that your glory days will not be forgotten. In an age when select pictures were mailed with careful consideration instead of posted with 350 others to Facebook, you reigned supreme, and you will not be forgotten. I say this out of a profound appreciation for you...and because I am deathly afraid I already peaked, too. But no matter what Mailbox, I am here to thank y…wait, hold on, I have an email.
I’ll finish this later,
Mala
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