My Mailman Hates Me

It's official. I'm convinced that my mailman hates me.

The first thing that I noticed when I collected my mail this afternoon was a long overdue check from a client. I've been waiting months for this thing so, as a freelancer, to say that I was excited was nothing if not an understatement.

The second thing that I noticed in my mailbox was the spring issue of Sherman's Travel Magazine. My long overdue check was for a couple grand, and I haven't had a proper vacation in years, so there was a moment when I convinced myself that this was an omen.

The photos of one Caribbean spa after another tempted me, to say the least. My excitement grew when I realized that the check in my hand would actually be enough to pay for one of these trips.

As I continued flipping through the pages of this magazine, I came to realize that I also had a multitude of other options available to me besides the Caribbean.

There was an article about how charming Charleston is.

Another article talked about the storybook views of Prague (where my father's family comes from), Budapest, and Kiev. I've always wanted to visit Eastern Europe and, as I realized that I actually have a couple weeks open in my schedule this summer, I thought for a moment that this might be the year that I cross such a visit off my to-do list.

I was genuinely happy for a moment there.

And then I looked at the next thing in my mailbox.

My credit card statement.

It was a sad reminder of the fact that more than a few things were charged while I was waiting for this check to arrive. Groceries. Cell phone. There simply won't be enough left over once that's paid off to go much farther than Ann Arbor.

Yes, my mailman hates me.

Oh, well. The Roswell Chronicles will be done before long. And then I can cross several other things off my wish list.


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