I think my mail-woman needs to take up yoga. Everyday I know the mail has arrived when I hear her zoom past. It's kind of like on Funny Farm, but in the suburbs. Even my packages she seems to throw at the house. I can just hope that one day she becomes less anxious, slows her breath, becomes less reactive, and slows down a little bit altogether. Slow down mail-lady. Slow Down.
In the meantime, I'll just have to accept that my packages arrive like they've been drop kicked at the door to save time.
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