Don’t have your email address from 30 years ago

Hoo boy. “I don’t have your email address.”

I’ve been sorting through and discarding much old correspondence. Christmas cards that only say “Merry Christmas” in handwriting. Long letters from that guy that eventually gave me a big F-U. Xeroxed party invitations that seemed really cool at the time.

Joe?  Who the hell was Joe? Seemed fairly close, but….uh….

Then the kind couple who thought I was really into the occult. Uh, no, I think  you misread this dilettante.

And a few keepers. A long correspondence with a well-traveled friend. How did I lose touch with him? That girl that I just didn’t know how to talk to, but eventually sent a bunch of letters – oh, what awful letters: I remember some of them – not because I thought that was right, but because I was an idiot and had no idea how to talk to the opposite sex.

And then….a letter from an ex. I kept it because it was the last one. And I roughly remember my response, which ensured it’d be the last one.

It is so, so very good not to have the email addresses of all these people who are just working through life as I am, trying not to have it suck. And the last thing they need to read is something from me over 30 years later, trying to straighten something out or settle some nonsensical score.

Yes, in my worst moments, I might just do something like that. And I thank God on my knees that I don’t have any of  these people’s email addresses.