Mail

She is at it again.
Last night, checking my mail like a patient being psychoanalyzed, my thoughts were random, but external. Rather than relaxing on Freud’s sofa and giving insight into a preconscious I stood at my kitchen table, thoughts organized in the order of the shuffled mail for that day. Then it caught my attention. "110th Congress." Yeah, still better then the 109th, I thought. Then, I opened it up. An 8.5x11 gorgeous piece of junk mail, a two-page layout, full color with pictures.