Dear Inbox,

First, I compared your emails to pounds and was delighted you were losing weight. Then, I said maybe I'd just run away from you, you were getting so out of hand. But today, dear inbox, today I got you down to ZERO.

ZE. RO.

Yes, I did a lot of deleting and archiving instead of responding, but I did do some responding, and I did a lot of reading, watching, and listening to things people had sent me over the past year+. And I did some reorganizing around my clear failings as a correspondent, so hopefully (although it obviously remains to be tested) I can be sure to respond to emails henceforth in a timely (although it's me, so obviously timely ≠ prompt) fashion.

Think we can do it, inbox? I certainly do.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Inbox,

Remember the days when I used to actually respond to email messages? Remember when I compared emails to pounds and helped you lose weight? I was proud of myself then, but things have changed.

As I type, you have 349 messages, with more certain to come. Now, I'm not of the type who leaves all messages ever in the inbox. No, I leave them there because there's something I need to do about them. Like respond. Or put something on my calendar.

I think maybe your state is indicative of a deeper problem.

Lately, I've felt myself ... I'll say getting lazy, although I don't think that's quite it. I'm tired, my dear inbox, tired especially of being on top of things. I've been on top of things all my life, keeping organized homework lists as early as elementary school and writing down all of my extracurricular activities on a calendar so I knew where I had to be when. I remembered things and did everything right and never let the ball drop. I was reliable. It's how I succeeded and looked good and got accepted to every school I applied to.

But now I'm tired of it. I'm tired of fitting myself into others' schedules: public buses, work hours, work projects, and so on. I'm tired of structuring everything so perfectly that even my unstructured time is structured. I'm tired of fitting my life into boxes and slots of calendar pages, email responses, timetables, résumés, and spreadsheets.

I'll get over it. I'll get back on top of things someday. But I have a feeling that as long as you're around, my inbox, I'll always have the pressure of responsibility, of tasks left undone, of falling short of expectations and letting people down.

Maybe it's that I'm playing the part of the career woman I was never meant to be, and the confusion between should and is has muddled other areas of my life as well. But whatever it is, dear inbox, if I abandon you for good someday, know it's not your fault, nor the fault of the people whose kind, loving, and often encouraging words fill you up. It's just that, by then, maybe I'll have grown up enough to accept that it's finally time to run away.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Email Inbox,

I imagine that going from 115 emails to 48 in a week would feel, for you, almost like it would feel for me to go from 115 to 48 pounds. Do you feel lighter now? Carefree? Impatient for me to reply to or act on the remaining 48 emails?

Don't worry. I won't rest on my laurels just yet. But you're welcome for finally paying more attention to you these days.

Hugs & kisses,
B