Envelope sealant tastes bad

I just finished writing thank-you notes, found addresses for the last two families on my graduation announcement list (“better late than never” has always been my motto), and wrote two letters to faraway friends.

Wow, my hand is tired. And my mouth has that awful aftertaste that one gets from licking an envelope.

I really do like writing letters, though. Handwriting is much more personal than an email, or a quick text, or a tag on Facebook. I’ve always enjoyed receiving letters because they symbolize care; if a friend, family member, or former teacher (which has happened) takes the time to write a postcard or a small greeting or send a package, that means they care enough about you to take the extra time to send a message.

My grandmother has lectured me about sending letters for years, and last summer, I understood the message when I went away for six weeks. I loved getting letters. My friend and I would walk to the mailroom before minors to see if a letter or a package awaited. The mailroom was crowded at this time, containing a sea of students who also wished to receive a letter from a loved one. Happiness often ensued, along with the sharing of any baked goods that my mother sent to me.

The fascination continued as my pile of college mail grew exponentially over the next few months. Although I didn’t have (and still don’t have) any interest in attending Gwinnett Technical or enrolling in Stanford’s summer program, mail with my name on it was still nice to receive. Letters from colleges that I actually cared about left me a nervous wreck during March and April as I opened the mailbox each afternoon, hoping to see “the big envelope.” (Oddly enough, my acceptance letter to my future alma mater came in the form of several small envelopes over a span of a few weeks.)

With the end of April came the end of college mail, excluding the few premiere colleges where I can “still apply,” aka have a spot. Like I haven’t already enrolled somewhere already. Anyway, mail with my name has been coming less and less, and except for the occasional subscribed magazine or the latest news about summer orientation, I have been somewhat dissatisfied with the adventures to my mailbox as of late.

If you’d like, send me a letter. I promise I’ll send you one back.

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