practicality

You know what I've always kind of wanted, for a great many years? A penpal. A real one, who I'd write letters to and who'd write letters back, and that would be our primary form of communication. I rather like writing letters, even if I'm rather awful at it, and even more than writing them, I like getting them. Probably because I almost never do. I can probably count the amount of personal mail I've recieved that's not a 'Happy Birthday/Christmas/Easter/Valentine's Day' card with a signature on it from a relative, that I've recieved in the last twelve months, on one hand. I think about half of that is from Ammie.

Back to the point. I've tried those penpal services a couple times, but it always ends up the same way - we exchange a letter or two, and then suddenly, nothing comes for me. I write, and recieve no reply. Forever. My entire fourth grade class had penpals - mine was a girl named Clare, who lived in England. She always decorated the margins of her letters in marker, and played the trumpet, I think. I saved all her letters, they're in a box (more or less) under my bed. For that matter, I save all my letters, although they usually go in the drawer in my desk. I've thought about writing her again, a few times. But she's probably moved, doesn't remember me any more. It makes me feel a bit silly, and a bit sad. Sigh. Such is my life, I guess.

...I'm in strange mood this weekend, it seems. I keep expecting it to be fall outside for some reason. I'm in a fall sort of mood I guess.