When I get a bill, I put it in a stack. The bills I do not look at for one or two weeks. Things that are not bills are usually advertisements from American Express or a restaurant or American Express advertising a restaurant. Occasionally there will be mail for the lady who used to live here. I will wait a week and then write “RETURN TO SENDER” in black pen, on the front. I learned this from an Elvis song.
Occasionally, there will be actual mail from real, actual people I know. This is usually a thank you card from my mother, who is very considerate, or an invitation to somebody’s 30th/40th birthday party, or a wedding invitation. I usually save these pieces of mail because they retain some sentimental value for a few months. I feel guilty when I throw them out.
When I get a package, I open it immediately. Packages that are cardboard boxes get open, broken down with a box cutter, and taken out to the recycling area of our trash. I feel good about the amount of cardboard recycling we do. We have much more recycling than our neighbors every two weeks, and I often think that they must feel like the world is filling up with trash around them and that they alone are causing global warming. I picture our neighbors killing babies, eating dog, and pouring their oil into a lake.
Packages that are not boxes get thrown away in the regular trash. I feel extreme guilt about my level of waste, which I consider severe. I have two children in diapers and a terrible addiction to consumer electronics. I understand that humanity cannot last forever, and that the act of being born, in essence, both propagates and destroys our species. I have been battling depression.
To summarize, the mail is okay. I consider it necessary, mainly because I have Amazon Prime. When I order diapers and electronics, I want to do it in the shame of my own home. I am the sum of what I order on the internet. Sometimes the mail reminds me of that.