Sending presents to ourselves

I currently get around four pieces of friendly snail-mail a year (my birthday card from my ever-reliable aunt and a couple of invitations). That small amount leaves a heavy place in my heart.

When mailboxes were fun (photo by
When mailboxes were fun (photo by mrtechc)

It’s gotten to the point that I don’t even check my mailbox anymore because I feel no need to expend energy opening a box (so tiresome!) so that people can tell me how they want me to spend my money (aka junk mail and bills).

But ordering online makes it all better. After I’ve made an order, I have an incentive to open my mailbox. For example, today I ordered The Artist’s Way (finally!). It’s been, like five hours. Do you think it’s here yet??? One sec, let me go check.


And then, every time I get a note from the post office that a package has arrived, I get all giddy and I want to drop everything and go pick it up. I sort of pretend it’s a present and that I don’t know what it is. It’s a little sad to think I’m buying myself presents but it’s happy to be handed the package at the post office and then to open it when I get home. And… SURPRISE! See what thoughtful gift I just gave myself!

I’ll admit it. I even considered ordering the item gift wrapped one time. For myself. I haven’t stooped that low yet but who knows…

Maybe it’s sad that we’re sending ourselves presents but at least it will keep us opening our mailboxes, so that’s really great and responsible and so actually this post is really positive. No, really.


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