Is it wrong to be worried about the mailman? I’m worried about the mailman. He should have been here by 1pm, 2 at the latest. Now it’s after 5, and it’s dark, and it’s also getting harder to park on my street. He drives a minivan, but it’s not going to seem so mini in another half an hour or so when everyone starts getting home from work.
I know it’s a little weird to be so obsessed with my mailman. But I don’t have much else to focus on. It’s just me and the cats at home all day, and frankly, they aren’t much for conversation. (They’re indoor cats, too, so they don’t even ever bring me anything.) The mailman making his appointed rounds is the main punctuation to my afternoon. I realize that I know the sound his master key makes opening all of my building’s mailboxes at once, and I can definitely tell the difference between the throaty slam of all five of them and the tinny, lonelier sound of a neighbor swinging her own box shut. And I find myself listening for those noises, because it’s an excuse to get up out of my chair, and while I’m up, maybe tidy a little, take some recycling down to the bin, and maybe get a snack or something on my way back to my desk, since my monk-like powers of concentration probably won’t allow me to get up again for quite some time.
Now it’s almost 6, and he’s still not here. At this rate, the UPS guy (who drives down my street every evening around 6:30) will be here before him, or maybe at the same time, and that might be awkward. I don’t know. Maybe they’re fine with each other.
But I worry.
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