Yesterday, while digging through the bucket of unsolicited emails I get en masse on a daily basis, one caught my eye and I actually replied. I don't know how I ended up on the email list, and I don't know why I responded, but it went something like this:
It's one of those emails that looks like it's personal, straight to the end user, but it's SPAM, we all know it. I knew it, too. But, tired, sick for the past few weeks, coughing since October, overwhelmed by life and bills and everything else, I hit REPLY. I wrote this:
I wrote this, mind you, while sitting in solitude on the toilet. During the day when the kids were in daycare because, let's be honest, when the kids are home, Little T is crawling around my ankles and Asher is bringing dozens of toys into the loo to play with while I attempt to do my business.
The original sender, Kathryn, sent back an email that was pretty generic, empathizing with my comments and fears. I had hoped for something more. I'm not sure what, but something.
Part of me thought that by putting my words out into the universe to some random, unsolicited email that some magic peace or calming reality would hit me.
It didn't.
Now I just want a bowl of ice cream.