A Letter to My Inbox
Dear Gmail Inbox,
I have been oh so patient these last two weeks, like a crabby child awaiting his or her favorite dessert of chocolate cake after a long, hot day.
Okay, I guess a kid waiting for that would be less patient and more stabby, but still, I've been patient. Today marks two full weeks of job hunting, and I'd like to see some real Siegfried and Roy-esque results now. So Inbox, you'd better start jumping through flaming hoops pretty soon.
Some responses to the dozen or so applications I have out in the world might be nice. Do you know, Inbox, how hard I've worked on these applications? I've gently tailored my resume for each one. I've written terrible cover letters from scratch, lauding my myriad talents in ways that make me sound inhuman. And in the meantime, I've even carefully purged the old emails from you.
(Do you know how much some of those emails stank? Didn't even smell as pleasant as the Justin Bieber perfume, and calling that stuff even remotely pleasant is a stretch. Just between us, you really ought to bathe more often, Inbox.)
Anyway. I've been desperately clinging to my willpower the last several weeks. Willpower to resist going to you ten times a day in search of new emails, only to find you strangely empty and silent. It made me wonder what went wrong in our relationship - I've been the one constant, so you must be at fault. I'm beginning to resent the evil power you hold over my head, Inbox, and I realize now exactly what you are: you are the cat, I am the mouse, and you are in league with Cthulhu.
I knew my previous business arrangement with that tentacled terror would not end well, but little did I suspect he'd use something like you to exact his apocalyptic revenge. I thought it would maybe involve a lack of ice cream cake last Saturday, on Avatar Day. Possibly a crucial stitch ignored in my recent knitting. Perhaps accidentally getting sucked into an impenetrable vortex of rush-hour traffic in a new city I don't yet comprehend.
Wait, that one happened. This is too much to handle.
Inbox, for you to have teamed up with him means the shattering of all my dreams: dreams of you being the bearer of all good things, the conqueror of negative thought, the bold hero of my dramatic job search. How could you let me down this way?
I shall continue to check in with you, despite your evil leanings, because humans need sustenance and therefore a means to acquire it. Unless you deliver a sweet message to me soon, though, I'll have to consider you lost to Cthulhu's dark side.
But I know there is good in you.
Sincerely,
Your former caretaker and now excommunicated lackey,
Allison
I have been oh so patient these last two weeks, like a crabby child awaiting his or her favorite dessert of chocolate cake after a long, hot day.
Okay, I guess a kid waiting for that would be less patient and more stabby, but still, I've been patient. Today marks two full weeks of job hunting, and I'd like to see some real Siegfried and Roy-esque results now. So Inbox, you'd better start jumping through flaming hoops pretty soon.
Some responses to the dozen or so applications I have out in the world might be nice. Do you know, Inbox, how hard I've worked on these applications? I've gently tailored my resume for each one. I've written terrible cover letters from scratch, lauding my myriad talents in ways that make me sound inhuman. And in the meantime, I've even carefully purged the old emails from you.
(Do you know how much some of those emails stank? Didn't even smell as pleasant as the Justin Bieber perfume, and calling that stuff even remotely pleasant is a stretch. Just between us, you really ought to bathe more often, Inbox.)
Anyway. I've been desperately clinging to my willpower the last several weeks. Willpower to resist going to you ten times a day in search of new emails, only to find you strangely empty and silent. It made me wonder what went wrong in our relationship - I've been the one constant, so you must be at fault. I'm beginning to resent the evil power you hold over my head, Inbox, and I realize now exactly what you are: you are the cat, I am the mouse, and you are in league with Cthulhu.
I knew my previous business arrangement with that tentacled terror would not end well, but little did I suspect he'd use something like you to exact his apocalyptic revenge. I thought it would maybe involve a lack of ice cream cake last Saturday, on Avatar Day. Possibly a crucial stitch ignored in my recent knitting. Perhaps accidentally getting sucked into an impenetrable vortex of rush-hour traffic in a new city I don't yet comprehend.
Wait, that one happened. This is too much to handle.
Inbox, for you to have teamed up with him means the shattering of all my dreams: dreams of you being the bearer of all good things, the conqueror of negative thought, the bold hero of my dramatic job search. How could you let me down this way?
I shall continue to check in with you, despite your evil leanings, because humans need sustenance and therefore a means to acquire it. Unless you deliver a sweet message to me soon, though, I'll have to consider you lost to Cthulhu's dark side.
But I know there is good in you.
Sincerely,
Your former caretaker and now excommunicated lackey,
Allison
Bonus points for the link to the video!
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