I hate emails. I am not lukewarm or indifferent about them: I Hate THEM. I cringe when an email makes it through Subcomandante and to my inbox. When I burn my chest hair with sweet-delicious-diarrhea-inducing hot liquid java because my daughter kicks me in the gonads while I Facebook (it’s a verb), and I see a red notification popping over the message icon, my soul cries the way it did when it read King Asshole Dr. Phil’s sexual assault tweet. It’s not so much that I am unhappy about hearing from you… I get ulcers thinking about answering you.
(Dear lawyers reading, this is pure speculation and will weigh nothing in court if you use the following against me, but it will prove once again that you are one scumbag of a shit fuck): chances are, I live with untreated ADHD. Anything that requires organization skills, a schedule, walking from point A to B uninterrupted, not peeing on the toilet seat, or a follow-up triggers severe eczema, heart palpitations, and loud and unpleasant harpy screeches in my head.
Just this week I answered an email from a blogger who inquired about a spot on The Outlier Collective… on July 29. Just this week I read and answered an email dated April 23 (thank you for not sending anthrax my way, Sian). If I don’t answer your message the moment I receive it, your email will slip into the cracks of the maelstrom that is my mind. That innocent Facebook message notification, that “you have 362 messages” red light? A fucking self-imposed stressor that translates into “you have 362 messages to answer NOW, or die”. And yet, I maintain a number of email correspondences with you.
Some days, when I feel intrepid and somewhat masochistic, I create email folders which I firmly believe will simplify my life:
- The Ringmistress;
- Ryan Gosling.
And subfolders to these:
- The Ringmistress (stuff) / The Ringmistress (stuff two) / The Ringmistress (more stuff);
- Ryan Gosling (movies) / Ryan Gosling (torso) / Ryan Gosling (restraining orders against Le Clown).
Filters and rules are created to automatically move emails to these new folders. That’s usually when I am distracted by a phone call, and when the shit hits the fan. What the hell are all these divisions? What are all these folders and subfolders with insanely large amounts of notifications? Whose fucking idea was this anyway? Why didn’t you stop me? Delete! Delete! Delete!
Should I remind you that I earn a living as a web marketing and social media consultant? I created my first email alias in the nineties (I still own it), back when it was cool to have a Hotmail address, and a Blockbuster Video membership card. But I have never mastered the art of emailing (nor texting, but that’s a whole other post in itself). When I physically work in a corporate office, and I am provided with Outlook as my email manager (bet you Bill Gates doesn’t use Outlook… bet you Bill Gates uses a Mac), I kill a seal pup. Instead of learning its intricacies (I’d rather be playing outside with my untreated ADHD and a squirrel), I ask colleagues to call me. The thing is, I hate phone conversations. I Hate THEM.
Prompt: Do you exchange emails with other bloggers?