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Dani California is my new favorite song
Apr. 27th, 2006 07:48 amI'm sure this isn't news to anyone, but the post office is a special level of hell. Does anyone know for certain when you need a customs form and when you don't? I've been told several times that I did not need a form for any package under six to eight ounces, and then I've been told I need a form for *everything* that I send. Yesterday the post office worker almost refused to send my package because, as I habitually do, I wrote my first initial and last name on the return address line. From the fit she threw, one might have thought I was a terrorist instead of the calm woman trying to send a letter to Iran who had to endure the humilation of a worker screaming "Are you sure you want to send a letter to Iran? That place is full of terrorists."
But eventually I mailed my damn package, bought stamps with corn on them, and left. Now if only I would get letters from my penpals. I signed up for two thing through the BPAL forum, one for writing partners to participate in this story exercise and one for just penpals. It's been weeks and I've had no letters in response to the ones I sent. Sigh. Rejected even in the letter writing world! I jest. It does make me a little sad though, because I bought a new notebook and pens and envelopes and stamps with corn on them.
I can't ever been a real genius writer unless I leave behind a baffling bunch of correspondence for my assistant to sift through in my old, cantankerous years. It will be a cross between Old Man Burroughs and Nabokov, letters and letters, and maybe even some random doodles in the margins. Come on, you know you all want me to achieve academic immortality and leave behind this strange volume for future students to pick up in used bookshops and puzzle themselves over.
So I'll just burn a new mix cd, and wonder where the hell all my new and fancy pens took themselves to and write letters that won't ever be mailed. The spring storms come and go. We have more tornados in May than any other month, and more than any other state. (that of course may be due to our size relative to the rest of the states)
The real question lately is what to do with my wedding rings. Of course I don't wear them anymore, and I don't think I'll ever put them on again. the linger in the bottom of a box, wrapped to conceal their hopeful shimmer. I can't see keeping them as some forever monument to a life I thought I would have. But at the same time I feel uneasy about selling them. Is it bad luck to pass on wedding rings like that? I don't even know what size Alan's ring is anymore, I've forgotten that. I might feel guilty if I threw them off a cliff or into a storm. I don't know. Advise me, internet. Tell me what you would do.
But eventually I mailed my damn package, bought stamps with corn on them, and left. Now if only I would get letters from my penpals. I signed up for two thing through the BPAL forum, one for writing partners to participate in this story exercise and one for just penpals. It's been weeks and I've had no letters in response to the ones I sent. Sigh. Rejected even in the letter writing world! I jest. It does make me a little sad though, because I bought a new notebook and pens and envelopes and stamps with corn on them.
I can't ever been a real genius writer unless I leave behind a baffling bunch of correspondence for my assistant to sift through in my old, cantankerous years. It will be a cross between Old Man Burroughs and Nabokov, letters and letters, and maybe even some random doodles in the margins. Come on, you know you all want me to achieve academic immortality and leave behind this strange volume for future students to pick up in used bookshops and puzzle themselves over.
So I'll just burn a new mix cd, and wonder where the hell all my new and fancy pens took themselves to and write letters that won't ever be mailed. The spring storms come and go. We have more tornados in May than any other month, and more than any other state. (that of course may be due to our size relative to the rest of the states)
The real question lately is what to do with my wedding rings. Of course I don't wear them anymore, and I don't think I'll ever put them on again. the linger in the bottom of a box, wrapped to conceal their hopeful shimmer. I can't see keeping them as some forever monument to a life I thought I would have. But at the same time I feel uneasy about selling them. Is it bad luck to pass on wedding rings like that? I don't even know what size Alan's ring is anymore, I've forgotten that. I might feel guilty if I threw them off a cliff or into a storm. I don't know. Advise me, internet. Tell me what you would do.