Amy Robinette
Jul 24, 2017 · 2 min read

All of my passwords online are all little permutations of my temporary university password. I can’t remember if I got it on a little piece of paper. 2003 was kind of a long time ago. And if I couldn’t quite remember my password, I decided that I shouldn’t be making my way into that particular site. If I can’t remember the password, this website must not mean much to me anymore… like throwing away a blouse I haven’t worn in years.
I just let go of my hotmail account. The beginning of hotmail was kind of a big deal. I remember sitting in my basement thinking of the perfect hotmail address. “What do you want your address to be?” — nothing made you realize that you were not alone in the world. 1999, a different time to be alive. Finally connected. Small town turned (sort of) the whole world. How people figured this shit out with zeros and ones?

Anyway, back to hotmail and how disloyal I was to it. Man, did Gmail ever make it seem juvenile. I wonder how many e-mails I just let starve and die. I never read them. I don’t even really like e-mails all that much. I like the ideas of letters, but I don’t write them. I can never get them straight. Then, you get to the end of the letter and you aren’t really sure you said what you have to say because you aren’t even really sure about what you wanted to say in the first place. That’s why I think postcards are hard.

Postcards are as hard as keeping your house clean at all times. I feel bad for people who do that. Don’t they understand how satisfying it is to watch your dirty floors transform? It’s a true Cinderella story, every. single. time. I mean, who smiles after they’ve cleaned their floor? I wish I got the same feeling when I folded all of my clothes that I tend to rip out of my dresser and then not put back properly. I just don’t have enough time and I maybe shouldn’t change four times a day.

But, I do.

Amy Robinette

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french canadian teacher writing things that she hopes have to do with other things.