I have a beautiful circle of girlfriends from high school with whom I’ve been sporadically exchanging snail mail for the last decade. I have a box full of fridge magnets, random newspaper clippings and a fairly unambiguous postcard with “Never sleep with workmates” printed 17 times on its reverse (the author later went on to have children with said workmate, so perhaps her opinion has changed somewhat). I have 10 years worth of photos, houseplans of rented apartments, and of course rants about Bloody Useless Men. Sometimes when I find myself wondering what the hell I've done with my life, it's comforting to read over some old letters and remind myself I'm no longer earning $200 a fortnight, chasing stupid-ass 20 year olds and and starting every sentence with 'like, OMG!'
My parents are also wont to send some rather esoteric crap, and the other day I unearthed this epistle from circa 2004:
Dear Globet,
Here comes your little fishy. It’s a bit dirty. It’s been sitting outside drying for ages after you left it. I brought it in and it dried out some more. Now it is small enough to put in an envelope so here it is.
~Love Mum~
Like omg, WTF.
