The Sound of Paper Flying and Rising Temper

It’s Monday. Mondays mean bookkeeping. Mondays mean sorting through all the junk mail they send to my and Mom’s addresses.

I check mail once a week. On Fridays, usually.  It isn’t sorted and worked through till Monday, so Mondays mean filling up a 13 gallon garbage can stashed outside my office, lined with a heavy-duty, extra-hefty garbage bag in which to toss all the wasted dead tree paper that charities, political groups, and businesses begging for attention mail to everybody who has the fortune to own a mailing address. And, of course, that means that every two weeks when I go to the dump, I get to load these heavy bags of paper to the recycler.  I wish there was some way to get on a no-unsolicited-mail list.