My inbox used to be the sort of place that made me happy; full of emails from friends and family members, or things that I actually needed to do, like pay my credit card or remember someone’s birthday. Fun things.
But now it has become the place of disappointment. As I comment on more blogs or sign up to more services, more and more spam filters in like weeds pushing their way up through the paving slabs. And I feel cheated.
One new message! Screams my notifier. How exciting! Maybe someone wants to offer me a million pounds and send me to Bermuda to write an article on the phenomenon of the triangle, or send me some Zara clothes to ponce around the office in and review for some glamorous glossy magazine. Nope.
An email that informs me of all the fantastic places I could go should I have the bank balance or the holiday left. Frankly disappointing. No less disappointing is the next one, an email from Marie Claire to tell me all about the designer clothes the Beckham’s baby is wearing or that Ryan Reynolds is back on the market. I don’t care! (Im trying not to feign interest for the latter).
(gratuitous man shot, just what one needs)
The worst one is runner’s world. I think I signed up for that while training for the race for life, in a bid to prolong the agony and sign up for another run. Sanity soon returned and I didn’t, but they feel the need to inform me that my running shoes might not offer me the support I need. They are supporting me greatly actually, from the comfort of the shoe bag I keep in the murky depths of my wardrobe. I know that should I need their unwavering support, they will be there for me. Or, ill only be able to find one of them and decide to watch Eastenders instead. Better.
I am duly disabling the notifier.