I like to write letters. I like everything about it. The selection of paper, the pen choice, fixing an envelope for mailing, even choosing the right kind of stamp. Sometimes I include an article, an pictures, or whatever made me think of the person I am going to write.
My problem is that there are few people who appreciate a letter. There are a few and one of them is the guy at the place I buy paper. He sells me paper and envelopes and asks about who I write to. My aunt, Kregg's grandmother, my sister, and a few friends. The problem is he is the only OCD diabetic I have ever seen. He has Bandaids on multiple fingers and he takes FOREVER to put on a Bandaid if he has just checked his glucose levels. Last time I went and bought paper he bled on some of my rice paper and there was an awkward moment while we pondered the blood spot. He is OCD about checking his blood (about every hour near as I can tell) but he seemed remarkably unconcerned about the oozing of bodily fluids on my paper.
He finally said if I WANTED I could go get another piece of paper to exchange. I said I did. He wanted me to come show him so we would have an even exchange and I just stared. This man and his bad habits were putting a damper on my pleasure in letter writing. Now if I were to use that kind of paper I would think of the blood and the creepy germs.
I exchanged the paper but for a different kind. I did not go show him as I was in a hurry anyways. I was in a hurry to go write this down mostly.
My problem is that there are few people who appreciate a letter. There are a few and one of them is the guy at the place I buy paper. He sells me paper and envelopes and asks about who I write to. My aunt, Kregg's grandmother, my sister, and a few friends. The problem is he is the only OCD diabetic I have ever seen. He has Bandaids on multiple fingers and he takes FOREVER to put on a Bandaid if he has just checked his glucose levels. Last time I went and bought paper he bled on some of my rice paper and there was an awkward moment while we pondered the blood spot. He is OCD about checking his blood (about every hour near as I can tell) but he seemed remarkably unconcerned about the oozing of bodily fluids on my paper.
He finally said if I WANTED I could go get another piece of paper to exchange. I said I did. He wanted me to come show him so we would have an even exchange and I just stared. This man and his bad habits were putting a damper on my pleasure in letter writing. Now if I were to use that kind of paper I would think of the blood and the creepy germs.
I exchanged the paper but for a different kind. I did not go show him as I was in a hurry anyways. I was in a hurry to go write this down mostly.
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