Thursday, February 16, 2012

In Short: I'm Bad At Emailing

For all the talk I give to being a writer, I am an utter failure at correspondence. As a child I was all hopped up on having pen pals (through snail mail, for you jail bait types), but after exchanging some beaded jewelry and excited missives on Tiny Toon stationary, I'd leave that little girl hanging.

In my high school fre
nch class (Fun Trivia: It was Kevin Spacey's classroom in "Pay It Forward", oh the Keyser Soze jokes we enjoyed...) we each had a pen pal in France, the idea was we'd write to them in French and them to us in English. A lovely young man sent me great letters... for him, he got the initial, verb conjugating abusing letter I was graded on and that was it. I wanted to correspond with him, and I felt bad that I didn't... but my laziness apparently held a much more compelling sway on me.

This leads up to being awful, AWFUL at emailing. I write back in my head, but there seems to be interference (read: so, so fucking lazy) when it comes to actually sending those words. As terrible a habit as this is nowadays, I'm lucky I wasn't born back in the days where we only had romantic letters delivered on romantic horseback, because I really like modern plumbing. But also because I'd probably be a spinster and starve into madness or whatever happened to ladies back then whe
n they didn't have a penis-having-guy around...

April 26, 1898
Dearest Stephanie,
It has been quite a few fortnights since I last have heard from you, and while I am well aware of the tenuous nature of our delivery... I can't help but worry. Still, I hold your photograph and two previous letters close to my heart in this hellish foxhole, it truly helps the hardtack go down easier.

I have more to say, but I'm keeping it to myself to tempt you into writing more.

Sir Henryrington the Fifteenth, First Cub Scout of the Second Infantry of Cornwall, aka "Pookie Bear"

January 2, 1899
Dear, dear Pookie Bear,
I ca
nnot fully apologize enough for my lack of correspondence, but my stars in heaven have things been simply wild here! My horse, Santiago (etching enclosed, isn't he a dear?) has taken to racing. I have painted racing stripes on him and I will swear that it truly does make him faster.

Are you still alive? If so, I will wait for a
nd love you forever.

Stay cool (or warm, should I say! Oh, modern humour.)

Pookie Bear

February 26, 1899
Pookie Bear is your term of endearment for ME, you cow. Does your father still hold us to the betrothal? I met this dashing lady at camp and... well it's not important. What is is that you write back IMMEDIATELY upon receiving this letter. If there is a brai
n in your head or a soul in your heart, you will do me this favor. An entire war ended faster than you could send me a letter, for the record.

Truly tired,
Sir Henryrington the Fifteenth, First Cub Scout of the Second Infantry of Cornwall, retired "Pookie Bear"

July 6, 1899
Did I give you my pocket watch? I can't find it anywhere. Sorry I misplaced your last letter quite soon after receipt, but from memory I can assure you you are indeed invited to my family's Summer Quail Fest '99.


Tragically, Sir Henryington was found dead, he had taken his own life by falling onto his sword which had also impaled the scant letters of Lady Stephanie.
Also, consumption.

1 comment:

  1. I have the same problem. A lot. I write things in my head, I know exactly what I want to say, I just never actually sit down and write them. I have the same problem with blog posts and other writing, too... Which reminds me, I have a half-finished blog post that's been staring at me for a month.

    Also, emails to respond to.

    Eh, they'll figure out what I mean. Or die eventually. One or the other.