“Oh, I’ll just take a minute before dinner and go through my mail pile.”
Most of my physical mail just alerts me that I’ve paid a bill on-line. It wastes paper, but Gary insists.
Sometimes, I get a letter stating that I need a mammogram, or I need to renew a license, or pay a doctor, or throw in another five dollars to an auto-pay account. I had those exact letters in a pile before dinner.
It did not take a minute. It took forty-five minutes. I had to get stamps, a pen, envelopes: I expected that. But I did not expect the rigamarole of signing on to the auto-pay, having to get a security code texted because I was using a new device, getting my purse because it contained the phone where the texts go – I won’t bore you any more. Every little task had some tangential series of tasks that went along with it and sucked up all the time.
I finally got through my four letters with one computer, two apple devices, one phone call, one email, three visits to get something out of my purse, plus the stamps and envelope, and even after all that there was one letter I just slapped on my desk when I saw I could avoid it until January 2020.
I am spoiled.