Scribble it down

So we end another day with the sun setting, while most of us day roaming-full time workers will only just realise the day actually existed, and the sun doesn’t rise and set when your computer comes off hibernate or not. I have stared today at this computer screen for what seems like an eternity and you wonder why kids are bored when there aren’t any LCD screens around. All we do, all we are trained to do, is use them. The reason we are so IT savvy is because all we have ever learnt is how to utilise this wonderful information technology. You know what? I want a fucking pen pal! I want to receive mail that isn’t in my hotmail inbox or from Telstra. I want someone to send me a postcard with millions of stamps all over it from its long windswept journey half way round the world.

I think there is something to be said when receiving physical mail. Even the way the pages smell (depending on what you getting and where it came from). Now the irony of this whole situation is, I sit here on the computer expressing my views through a blog. If I could mail it out to all my friends and have them read it I would, although, I am a product of my ‘now now now’ generation and want to click ‘send’ and know it will light up your screen at some stage in the next 10 seconds, rather than the next 10 days.

Remember how to write a letter? Remember when we got our pen licence in school? I even had a pen pal in school! She would send me lollies in weird packaging and novelty pens. Of course, at the time I completely under appreciated the sincerity and effort this involved but now, the way to my heart would be to send my lollies in strange wrappers, novelty pens, and all this written in your own hand so I can see when you made a mistake, scribbled out a few lines, doodled on the side of the page when the thoughts weren’t flowing as freely.

I think in a day and age of technology it seems harder and harder to convey true meaning and true desire through your hotmail, face book, text or email. There is something to treasure when someone’s hand has scrawled all over the page, the ink smudging their hand as they think of the thousand things they could write. Then we would really know what it’s like to miss and what it’s like to truly communicate in a very intimate way again. Maybe I am just crazy, or maybe I am thinking of revolting against my keyboard. Either way, I wish someone would send me a letter, because no matter how many emails you get, I just don’t think it equals your name handwritten on the envelope and the stamps that tattoo its freshness all addressed to you, knowing someone has taken the time and effort to write down their thoughts and feeling on a page for you, walked the 15 minutes to the nearest shops, bought the stamp and envelope and flicked it off for some crazed posty to take it my door. Now that is sweet sweet communication.