Not my tree

I have an aversion to the post office, though with a PO Box I have to visit it with more frequency.

I bet the postal lady hates me, how I let the box get so chock full that I have to take out pieces at a time cause it’s so packed with crap for credit cards and subscription packages for Men’s Health emblazoned with “FOR MEN ONLY” on the envelope.

Some things I don’t throw away. Like Christmas cards. See, I have this weird phobia where I can’t destroy anything that someone writes on. It must be stored, or the bond between us will die. I make crap up like this to add complication to life.

Save your cards. It’s too much pressure, and I just can’t bear the thought of more boxes.

We need new holidays. One for guilt, another for admiration and a few more to revere fetishes and quirks.

Oh wait, that’s Christmas.