Over time my anxiety rises. When I leave my apartment I turn my eyes to the sky so I won't have to look at the mailbox, pretending it isn't there and that it doesn't contain anything. But eventually I need to face the awful truth: there are LETTERS in my mailbox, and they must be opened.
Today this task was long overdue and I was dismayed to find SIX letters addressed to me. I sat down in front of the computer, logged into online banking, and started reading the bad news.
A letter from Bell telling me that I'd really, really enjoy watching "ExpressVu digital TV." No I wouldn't.
A bill for this month's car insurance payment. Don't these folks know my car is ill? Have they no decency? This is like sending a tax form to the relative of a dying grandmother.
Speaking of tax forms, a notice from the Canada Revenue Agency that I miscalculated my taxes this year...and I get $149.85 back. Whew!
A bill from Royal Bank thanking me for paying a huge chunk of my credit debt, but kindly reminding me that there's much more left to pay.
Another letter from Royal Bank containing a new debt card, this one with fancy chip technology. I am convinced that this chip stores confidential information about my right buttock.
A bill from CIBC, notifying me that this month's balance due is...$0.51, thanks to an odd interest fee that I have no memory of accumulating.
After all that worry I'd say I got off pretty lightly. I cannot always be so fortunate.