Got yer letter slot right here

I have a desk drawer that’s filled with greeting cards. Birthdays. Babies. Anniversaries. Thinking-of-Yous. Condolences. Thank-yous. Etc. Overflowing.

Now, I never buy stamps. Because I cannot tell you where the G.D. post office even is for my ZIP code. And the cards? Remain unmailed. Some I’ve actually written in, but most didn’t warrant the effort because I neither had postage with which to mail them nor a place to mail them.

I do, however, have stamps out the wazoo from previous eras when they cost a lot less. But instead of keeping them, I’ve tossed them into the void as I’ve uncovered them, mostly because they ended up stuck to whatever was thrown into the moving boxes with them.

I drove around half of Rockville today trying to find a G.D. mailbox. I know where the post office is — I just don’t really care to go fight for a parking spot. I figured mailing the card in my possession — stamped! — could coincide with other errands. Not so much.

I fear the mailboxes have disappeared thanks to geniuses (genii?) like me who are willing to stick a book of stamps to their ass and get shipped anywhere but where they are. And I’m totally fine with paying the book rate — I’m all about a month-long journey to nowhere.

It just kills me that yet another card is destined for the all-encompassing void of the Desk Drawer of Good Intentions. Because you know the day I do stumble upon a mailbox, I’m not even going to remember the card I so lovingly filled out today. …

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