an ode to email

Oh email. You are not you.

You are not Gertrude or Renato, Daniel or Danielle. You are not George or Sidd, Rapha or Paula. You are not Seb Max Mary Ann Shawn Yeti Raj Wolfgang Lalita Marion Solange Katharine David or David.

You are not the accountant or the real estate agent. You are not the dentist reminding me that my teeth need cleaning.

You are not the lawyer who didn’t know that his firm had taken a retainer for his work from me. You are not the typical human who would have known to work harder if he’d known money had been taken up front.

You are human lawyer, and when we meet we make human to human solutions.

I’m not mad at you human … only that you didn’t read — no, really, hear — my email.

Younger people — colleagues and lovers most persuasively — give me reason to leave you. To by-pass you.

But email, you are more attractive than facebook, instagram, twitter, slack, grindr, whatsapp, scruff. You undergird.

I fall back on you.

You are not a wifi session or a netflix season.

You are a storage bin, holding things to come back to.

You do not ‘snap’ when I ‘chat’.

Longer term and therefore both avoidance-able and escapism-able.

You do not make a chirp, skype-like, as I walk down the street without any hardward on me. In that sense, you did not make a unique noise discernible from the other noises in my head.

Email, I do not polish you as I do an oration because — indeed — you erode me.

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