I feel like I'm running out of things to say about getting mail. I love it so much and I'm getting more personal mail now then I likely will ever again and I love it so much (did I say that already?). I sometimes feel like blogging about it is my way of expressing how much it means to me, but at the same time that I can't express really how much it means to me when I'm really trying to express that to one person (did I say 'express' and 'how much it means to me' enough in that sentence?). So I fear I'm not going to be able to exude to you the reader or to the author of anything I receive just how happy it makes me.
Last week I got my (non Gordo inspired ;) ) letter from a Mr. Matt Carson. Actually, it was really my first letter too. I've gotten cards (or the post and greeting variety) and packages (of the mail variety, you filthy minded scoundrel) but this is the first letter - pen on paper (recycled paper!) page after page of loving words and smile inspiring ... words (is there a synonym to 'words'?). It was wonderful, sits next to my bed on top of my well wishes and happy thoughts book and I can't wait to see give Matt in person all the hugs I've tried to give this little bundle of paper.
Which I will do. In 17 days. Shiza.
There's no place like...
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