No Mail Monday

I've got a routine.

It's not much of a routine . . . but it's mine.

I get up (roll out), I pour myself the cup of coffee that my wife has lovingly made for me, and start on breakfast. Today's menu: Frosted Mini Wheats for the little guy, Kale kidney bean frittata for us fatter folk. Once the pan is in the oven, I work on lunches for those who will be eating lunch elsewhere. Once the lunches are packed, I check and make sure my son has eaten, brushed his teeth, and is wearing clothes. I don't have to check up on my wife, she's usually pretty good about those things.

I surf the net for blog ideas, take my son to school, push my wife out the door, and then check my email before I begin to write.

Only thing . . . today there was no mail.

Not even a little.

I didn't even get a message from Facebook regarding people I might know.

I have no idea what sales Guitar Center is having this weekend.

And it's weird.

It's good . . . but weird.

The reason it's good is because I've slowly been unsubscribing from any every junk mail site that pops up on my feed. And the reason was because I accidentally threw out an important email while I was cleaning out the trash and I realized I needed to clean up my stuff.

I have a friend who . . . no kidding . . . has over a thousand unread email messages on her phone.


That, my friends, is a special kind of hell.

If I saw that number on that little red dot at the bottom of my phone I might give up society all together and head for the mountains.

So in response to that, I decided to unsubscribe to everything that had my name on it.

It was an anti-marketing campaign.

And it worked.

Except now I feel weird . . . and lonely . . . and unsure of my place in the universe.

There was a time, not too long ago, where I had a daily intake from five separate email accounts, two of which I was contractually obligated to check every few hours. One for my person, one for the music, one for the words.

Now I'm down to two.

And one I share with my wife, so she has to take on that responsibility.

So in reality I have just one.

One little email address.

One little email address just sitting online waiting for someone to invite me to prom.

It's almost noon now, and I'm getting ready to make lunch and check one more time.

Wish me luck.

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