The Cycle of Mail

I sigh before reaching for the mailbox door. What will be there today? Will I receive my assignment from my writing instructor? Will there be a surprise? No. It contains an envelope from an organization called Orchard Bank. I frown at this offending piece of advertisement. How many of these will they send before they figure out that, no, I don't want their card? I used to send their forms along with all of their ads for free, or low-cost items for sale, and the original envelope - plastic window glistening - in their reply envelope along with this message: I don't want your card. Please throw away your own trash. Apparently the computer who opens the mail can't read or there isn't a choice on the computer screen for "Not interested." I shake my head at this irritating monthly cycle as I go through my tossing routine: open envelope, take out application with my name, place application on burn/shred pile, place remaining materials in recycle bin. Return to pile of mail. I pause, how much time do I waste yearly on repetitive advertisements? I probably shouldn't care; however, my partner's father passed away last June - seven months ago. She has contacted, re-contacted, and contacted again the phone company, the cable company, the company in charge of his pension, etcetera. She has informed them several times, including via mail with documentation, of his death. She has informed them repeatedly of the new address that future correspondence needs to go to. What did she receive Friday, a registered letter addressed to her father. It was originally sent to his address. How should a dead man reply? "Sorry, in my state I'm unable to call or write. Please contact via psychic powers." Not to mention, the callousness of these companies who can't get their acts together.

Sifting through the monthly ads and tossing them in my own little way has become a sign of what this nation has become - impassive, impersonal, out-sourced, computer-reliant, and proud of doing a piss-poor job. Perhaps my partner should have contacted India directly when handling these matters.

Four-Wheeled Weapons

Tis Thursday morning and I have survived another journey via car to work. I am acutely aware that the morning commute can be dangerous no matter where you live, and I've lived and worked for months on end in many regions, but then there's the commute in Tallahassee. Every morning I drive 10 miles to work via a 2-lane road; it is the only route into town. It is the twilight hours of morning. This road is heavily wooded on both sides, deer are prevalent, as well as other animals, and branches from overhanging trees can often be found on the road. The speed limit is 45 mph. I drive 50 mph. I drive this speed for three reasons, it allows me to react more quickly to dangerous situations, it is within the legal speed limit, and to conserve fuel - I don't wish to pump my paycheck into my gas tank. Every morning, one or two cars fly by and speed on their way. I don't mind this so much when it is safe to pass. This morning, however, one car passed...directly into on-coming traffic. The second passed two cars while going up a hill, passing the second car at the crest...a no-passing zone.

I am not innocent either. When I was younger, I did what many young people do, drive too fast, weave in and out of traffic, punch the gas at a green light, and take chances. Even so, I still didn't pass going up hills. That's the height of idiocy.

I no longer scream, curse, honk, and flip off dangerous drivers who had given me an adrenaline rush .... as they put everyone's life at risk. Instead, I hope they learn that they're behind the wheel of a very large weapon before anyone gets hurt . . . just as I did. Until they get the message, they deserve a ticket.

It's a Red Flag Day

My partner regularly scans the NOAA (National Oceanic & Atmospheric Administration) website to see where storms are. This has become a necessity since the power goes out on a regular basis in our area which means one's computer shuts down. . .improperly. She now scans the site, sees where the line of storms is located, and continues working until the storms encroach our area, after which, the computers are shut down...properly. The other day, she was perusing the NOAA website, noting where the latest storm line was in relation to our house, when she noticed that our area was colored red. What does that mean? It wasn't a tornado warning box, so what was this? She looked it up. It was a Red Flag warning. Red Flag warning??? It warned us, in northern Florida, that our humidity would drop below 35 percent and that the danger of fires would increase. Thirty-five percent. She relayed this story with a chuckle in her voice knowing I would find the humor in this. I had lived in southern Arizona for 9 years, and in New Mexico for 3. Humidity of 35 percent is a very humid day in the desert, it practically rains. It's a nice "dry" day here. For kicks, I wanted to see if the desert Southwest was emblazoned with red highlights. It wasn't. Perhaps they color it when humidity rises above 25 percent. They could call it a Blue Flag day, warning locals that it will be sticky, and that they should stay inside.

Humidity below 35 percent in Florida. I breathe a sigh of joy; perhaps the mold will not grow...as much today, and my clothes on the line will take less than 10 hours to dry.

New Year Lazies

I dread to say that I have gotten a bit lazy over the holiday season, ignoring the call to write. Instead, I wandered the streets of New York, enjoyed the holiday ambience and cheer, ate...and ate...and ate, and slept until it was actually light outside. I hate to admit that the only creative thing I did was make a pipe rack out of shells collected from the beach. Granted, I got a lot of creative ideas...for three-dimensional creations.

Now it's January and school is back in session, my body is having to readjust to a fixed schedule and rising before dawn...I am NOT a morning person. I have stared at this screen repeatedly, but nothing creative, or relevant has come forth. So, I'll simply go with that. I am human, hear me have a non-creative writing...or ranting...kind of day.

Happy New Year