For a Monday, today was good.
I had fine classes, not inspiring but fine.
Then I got this survey in the mail for cancer research & smoking, the whole school gets them.
Inside was a $5 coupon for our bookstore, so i filled it out and then bought a little art journal and a bag of these vegan cookies that are sooooo good.
And best of all I turned in my overseas application and so thats out of my hands.
I did however accidently open a package to some girl from her boyfriend. It was a foot spa set.
It got put in the wrong mailbox, so when checking the Womyn's Center mail, where we get lots of packages from companies I don't always recognize.
But I gave it back.
I had fine classes, not inspiring but fine.
Then I got this survey in the mail for cancer research & smoking, the whole school gets them.
Inside was a $5 coupon for our bookstore, so i filled it out and then bought a little art journal and a bag of these vegan cookies that are sooooo good.
And best of all I turned in my overseas application and so thats out of my hands.
I did however accidently open a package to some girl from her boyfriend. It was a foot spa set.
It got put in the wrong mailbox, so when checking the Womyn's Center mail, where we get lots of packages from companies I don't always recognize.
But I gave it back.
It was a rather small package.
It's not something I think about much--looking at my mail before I open it, any more than I examine my food minutely before I put it into my mouth, & chew.
It wasn't until after I saw what it was that I curled back the brown paper--I admit that I tore into it; I don't get many packages, it costs money to send things, & I don't know anybody willing to spare the expense, other than the yearly package from my mother--
What I'm saying is, there's something special about getting an unexpected package, something visceral--a hunger, an insatiable need for something that you didn't even know existed moments before...
What I'm saying is: I ripped it open as soon as I turned the corner from the post office--I squatted down on the sidewalk with the few other letters I'd gotten for the month fanned out next to me.
Then I saw what it was.
I knew this wasn't for me.
Shit.
ShitfuckingSHIT.
I went from a squat to a sit, my shoulders against the brick wall.
I closed up the package as best as I could, & took it back to the post office.
"This was placed in my box by mistake."
"Excuse me, miss?"
"This package, from a Mister Vincent Van Gogh--it was placed in my box by mistake."
"I'll see that it gets to the proper party."
"Thank you"