elegantwaste's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- i've got mail but I want a key! One of the sad realities of my life is that the highlight of my day is often getting my mail. I love the sound the mailbox key makes when it fits into the old lock, I love the surprise of whatever is or isn't inside, I love slamming the door shut. I love being home when the mailman comes, and sometimes I go out while he's still there, but mostly I wait by my peephole. My apartment is right outside the mailboxes, so I can see when he leaves, and I can run out, get my mail, and be back in a jiffy. Because of the proximity, it also means I don't have to put on shoes or necessarily clothes when I do it. I'm always clothed, but it's often something rather inappropriate for a public hallway. Now, after four years, I know the mail has arrived by the simple crrrrrrreak SLAM the door makes when the mailman opens it. My ears perk up like a dog's, and I wait stealthily until I hear the SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! of him closing it. I don't have to do the peephole thing. When I was 12, my dad gave me a little wicker duck basket. His body is the basket, and it comes up into a beak and head. It used to have two shining eyes but both have fallen off. I don't remember what function the duck used to provide, but it is now the mail key holder. It also holds the key to the glass door, an extra front door key, and some other key that does something I don't know. The mail key, however, is its most important job. Every day when I decide to get the mail, I go to the duck. The key is never, ever, in it. And I check the mail every day. Every day I curse the key not being in the duck. Every day I must, by some strange compulsion, not put the key in the duck. Usually it's floating on the table where the duck is. In my pleasure at having mail, I throw the key haphazardly towards the duck, and it doesn't quite make it, and the duck falls over. It's quite a small duck. But every day, I for a few seconds, blame someone else. "Why isn't the key ever in the freaking duck?" I say. And it's always me. Today, there is mail in the box, and no key in the duck. And no key on the table. Or on the floor. Or on my desk. There's no key. I want my mail. The duck is empty. You sense my dilemma. It's not anywhere! I can't find it! I'm cleaning stuff up to find it and it's not there! I got mail yesterday. So it's in the house. I hope. It's red, and has a little gold chain on it. So, if you see my mail key, please! Return it! Edit: So, yeah, it was in the blue recycling bag, which is right next to the kitchen table. It was hanging out of an old tuna can. Grrrrross. Also, all I had for mail was the London Drugs flyer, but, that's okay, it's still exciting. 3:02 p.m. - 2002-08-16 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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