I have a list of people I need to call: to say hello, to catch up, to wish happy birthday, to congratulate, to find out what they said on my voicemail two months ago. I usually eke out one or two calls during the week, but generally the list only gets longer. I don’t know if it’s a disorder of some sort, but I really do not like talking on the phone. Long (or short) confabulations are not my thing. If forced to “talk” I simply maunder on and try to find the nearest, elevator, metro, or tunnel. After self-reproach, I usually feel surprised at how I still have friends.
Yesterday, I received a package in the mail from one such friend. Besides winning a boat, few things compare to receiving a big, heavy, and unexpected package from a friend. As Peter would say, it could be anything; it could even be a boat. The desk attendant at my apartment winced as I squealed with excitement and made a mad dash for the elevator; I couldn’t wait to see what I had received.
I grabbed a kitchen knife and jabbed it in the side of the box. In a matter of seconds all the contents were spread out on the couch. I sat amidst the stuff, reading her letter and shoving my mouth with the delicious chocolate that was part of the stuff; she must have known I would be starving. It was past 8 pm now. I had a long day at work, and an even tougher day at the gym. I was hungry, and with Komal away, I was lonely and ready to have a conversation with the cat. The package was exactly what I needed to lift my spirits. I was having a mini Castaway moment.
I promise I’ll call soon to thank you for the package; boat or not.