I haven’t got a personal letter in ages.
To be fair, I haven’t sent one, either.
I’ve decided to leave Facebook, and to write an actual, paper, snail mail letter to anyone who sends me their addy.
A few summers ago, a friend of mine was in a residential treatment program, far from home. We corresponded via the USPS, since they did not have internet access during the (about 6 weeks) program. Because everything else in her life was so serious (they confiscated the copy of 1984 I sent her when she mentioned it in a letter — worried that she might think the televisions were watching her — she didn’t, we were office mates in graduate school for LITERATURE), I tried to keep mine light. I must have met that goal, as she told me later that my letters were a hit with the entire cadre of women in the program, to whom she read them aloud.
I think I talked about our adventures of entering life on the mountain (from suburbia), getting our first dog, getting goats and alpacas and having a dozen cats . . . I don’t remember exactly. But I do rather miss letters.
Anyway, no promises of what you’ll get, but send me your addy, and I’ll write you.