Jumping in.

I have a box somewhere of unmailed letters. There are many. They date all the way from a time when I was very young till just a couple of years ago when e-mail mostly replaced my habit of rabid letter writing.

I just found one addressed to grandma. Stamped and sealed. Ready to go, and never mailed. I feel horribly guilty over it. She's gone, would my words have brought her comfort the 3 years and 9 days ago that the letter was written, stamped, and sealed?

Why do I avoid the mail so? Why do I let it stack up in endless piles? Why do I wait 2 months, 3 months before I finally go empty my mail box, the mail box with the notes from the post lady pleading with me to please empty it regularly. Even now I have my car payment sealed and addressed and have been 'meaning' to go drop it in the big blue mailbox for days now, but I just haven't seemed to have the will to get it done.

I can't say I'm afraid of it, but I do have anxiety over it. Anxiety over the bills it may contain, anxiety over the pile of paper it will make in my apartment, anxiety over the tumor of clutter it will create reaching out to spread it's disarray into other areas of the apartment, spreading like a rampant untreated matastasized cancer. Till it's to big for me to deal with and I end up just chucking it all into a fire or the dumpster, amputating myself from it, gaining a momentary reprieve from the unknowns it might unleash into my world. I'm such a freak.