You type an e-mail of questionable quality, possibly too revealing in nature or perhaps a questionable link. I'll paint a picture for you. It's late, your in your room, your listening to your music, you got that peaceful uber-easy feeling and in the PS you say something like 'p.s.. Why didn't we ever get together?' or 'p.s.. MAN! I just can't stop masturbating' Then you impulsively, defiantly hit send.
You get that quick sweat just after you hit send, when you can feel your hair line. Yeah, you know it. That's the beginning of what turns out to be a long sleepless night of near constant 'check mails' and nail-biting re-reads. You will stay in that hyper-aware stasis until that person responds.
If they don't respond in 18 hours you have to send those wooden 'so how are you. I hope you are well. I hope the kids are well. I hope work is well. well well well. I hope I hear from you soon.' emails. God forbid they don't respond to that. Then is the full on "Are you mad at me did I say something? What's wrong? I haven't heard from you in a while." Though you know EXACTLY what you did. Still nothing. Then you lose it "I'm sorry about the crude thing I said I didn't mean to freak you out and I really was joking about your kids name and she's not that ugly, really, she quite a beautiful child. sincerely, the apologetic asswipe.' Then later that day you get a group e-mail from him/her: 'I'm having a great time in Fiji here's some pics of me and the kids! I'll be back on Thursday.'
Now you feel like your going to puke. Your neurosis so clearly documented, so forwardable. Oh heavy day.
(everyone who knows me please write me a quick e-mail saying something reassuring.)
We all must suffer as Fifties Week continues (we will make it together.)
Today's Song of the Day is "Bye, Bye Love" by The Everly Brothers off there 1957 debut "The Everly Brothers"
Crazy Fact: There second album is called 'Songs Our Daddy Taught Us' HA HA HA HA! Man! the fifties SUCKED!
njoy
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