I haven’t checked the mail yet. For two weeks, I wasn’t sure if I would get sick or not, and now it’s just ginning up the courage to go do the thing. I think mail must be easier if you’re in a house. I haven’t lived in a house with a single mailbox for many years.
Some of the apartments I’ve lived in, perhaps most, had a standing group of mailboxes outside. You could see your neighbors a long way off, from your balcony, even. You knew when to go if you wanted to avoid conversation.
The place I’m in now has a mailroom. Two walls, banks of silver doors, protected from the elements. Fully enclosed. Serving nearly 400 units. That has to be, what, anywhere between 700 and 1000 people? One room.
I can try to time it to avoid people. I could probably go right now, honestly. I could get in and out before sharing breathing air. And I ought to go before the box gets full and it all gets sent back to the post office. I don’t think I can go there anyway.
But honestly. At this point? What’s that important?
Called 