How To Read The Mail

First of all, let me tell you that I hate the mail. I visit my mailbox maybe once a week. It's one of those community box things. Mail can be divided into three categories:

1. 75% - Junk and/or Crap. This is the stuff that goes directly into the recycling bin.
2. 15% - People That Want Money
3. 10% - Other Stuff

I picked up the mail today on the way to wait in the pickup line at the elementary school. That seems to be a good place to sort mail.

First, divide the mail into the above three categories. Pile all the junk on the passenger seat.

Second, tackle the bills. There was only one bill today. And it was actually a bill that made me happy. It was the electric bill. It made me happy because I realized that in another month, those bastards are going to owe ME money. I'm on this plan where they figure out what you pay for a whole year, and then divide it up equally over 12 months. What happens is that during the winter in AZ, you build up a credit balance, and then when the A/C bills are a bazillion dollars in the summer, you use up that credit instead of having to take out a second mortgage to pay the electric bill.

Right now, I have a large credit, because Nov-April are pretty cheap bills. That means that when we leave here in June, they're going to owe me money! Yay!

It was the Other Stuff that got me today.

First, an invitation to a party for my friend's son's graduation party. I have been friends with this person since high school. I was in her wedding. We went through a lot together. And now her oldest son is graduating. I was there when he was BORN, for Pete's sake. She was in labor, and I went to McDonald's and got her husband a cheeseburger. I was an integral part of that birth, people.

Sniffle a little bit.

Second, registration packet from Kylie's new elementary school in Colorado. Form to fill out, request for copy of birth certificate, shot records, request for transfer of her records from her old school.

This is where the tears start.

Third, a letter from the local community college that Danni will probably attend. To the parents of Danni. About how they're the best-kept secret in education in the valley. And they really want to be her college of choice. Please contact them for a tour.

At this point, glad to be wearing sunglasses.

Then I remember that in couple of hours, I will be watching Danni play in probably the last high school softball game I will ever see her play in. Because, you see, next year she will be here. And I will not. I won't be going to any Wolves football games, nor watching her in dance. I won't see any softball games. I'm going to miss her senior year.

This isn't fair. I was supposed to have one more year with her. A big year. Her senior year.

I love her too much to force her to go with us. I love her too much to let her miss out on this.

And it's killing me.

Now I'm sitting in the drive-up line, waiting for Kylie, and sobbing.

How long does this peri-menopause thing last? 10 years? AWESOME.

I hate the mail.