Mr. Postman

I’m out-of-town, dog in tow, and something’s missing. Turns out it isn’t the first time I’ve had this feeling. Case in point: an excerpt from one of my very first posts from August 25, 2009.

I’ve been away on business with my dog Rory for almost a week. I thought I would pine for our daily walks in Central Park; my idle conversations with neighbors on their stoops; or the energy that is Manhattan.

stack of mailInstead, I miss my mail.

What excites me most about my return home — besides sleeping on my own pillow — is seeing what treasures await in the stash of mail that is being held for me at the post office.

I don’t know if my feelings are unique to freelancers. I hope to see checks in the mail, of course. But I will be equally psyched to see letters, magazines, catalogs, theater and event postcards, and heck, even my bills.

I also miss the afternoon saunter to the mailbox; it’s a break I anticipate and enjoy. Here, in my friend’s apartment, there’s only email, and its constant stream — while immediate, necessary, and appreciated — doesn’t have the romance or charm of my daily snail mail delivery.

So, to my mailman back in Manhattan — I miss you. I appreciate you. And I hope you got my hold order. ‘Cause if I come home to an overflowing box of mangled mail…

I’ll have to kill you.

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