THE COLLECTION OF LETTERS

Papers, papers, and more papers. I'm drowning in a sea of documents, please help! I really need to take action!

I build a dozen archive boxes and number them with a huge chisel-nibbed marker pen, as advised by a critical but well-meaning friend. Okay, I can now distinguish a box at a distance of twenty paces.

I began going about my flat, ruthlessly putting papers and other garbage into the boxes. Box one has a stack of writing publications that had been piling up on my desk for months. Why am I not reading them? Or, for that matter, write? Of course, I don't have time. I suppose I could stop watching countless Seinfeld reruns, but I wouldn't want to break a lifetime habit. Regardless, out of sight, out of mind!

Box two has the garbage from my kitchen table, to-do lists, and heaps of receipts - why don't I just toss them away? Oh, yes, I want the points added to my loyalty card. Except I don't have any. So they're waiting for me to return to the store, line at the customer service counter, request an application form, mail it in, and then call to have the points retroactively applied. All for a few dollars.

Enter the box! I can toss them away when the allotted time has passed, if I don't receive one of their goddamned cards. Meanwhile, I don't have to feel guilty.

Box three contains items from the top of my file cabinet, such as stacks of unopened mail and bank statements. Why don't I make a request for paperless statements? So, do you know anyone who hasn't had a computer blow a resistor or something? Exactly! So, how do you get to your statements? You've been filled. As if I were a piglet in a chestnut factory.

The phone goes off. "Hello? … Yes, Shelina, I'm doing it right now! What exactly do you mean, voice recorder, card index file? … Look, I'm going to the ballet with my mother tonight; I don't have time for that... Sorry, I have to go, hun, I'll talk to you later!"

I open a drawer and place the contents in box number four. Reuben's letters. I'm not strong enough to put them through the shredder. But I didn't see us having a future. Call me odd, but I didn't enjoy what he wanted me to do.

Neither the flavour nor the fragrance appealed to me. I'm talking about those blue cheese and sauerkraut pretzels he was usually munching on.

There's also something in that draw that goes into box number four. Something I won't say here, but it makes me go "oooOOHH!!" But now that I'm a spiritual girl, I don't enjoy the concept of angels and spirit guides and anything else watching me do 'that.' I'm OK without it. For a week or two, at least. Maybe. We'll see what happens.

My pc makes a beep. A buddy from over the pond, a bad little nation, but hey, they have something we don't. They are congratulating themselves on their queen, beef heaters, and the Beatles. They also invented football, although a strange type where you can't pick up the ball! I will respond tomorrow. As I previously stated, I need to see Mom soon, and those plane tickets weren't inexpensive!

I dump everything from my dressing table and bedroom cabinet into box number six; I have more cosmetics than Emmett Kelly, for Christ's sake!

Finally, I marvel at two tidy piles of six boxes stashed away in a corner. Could I create another three or four boxes? I feel a sense of pride as I glance out the window, down upon the apartments below. I'm sure theirs are all messy, unlike mine!

The phone rings once again. "Hi Mom, Yes, I'm preparing to take a fast shower and prepare... Yeah, I'm definitely looking forward to that... Of sure, I have the ticket! … It is right here... It was, after all, right here... "Please hang on."

My gaze moves from the empty surfaces to the stack of boxes, and I feel ill to my stomach. "You said you'll be there in thirty minutes, Mom?"