HANNAH BRENCHER

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If a weekend was delivered to my doorstep this past Friday then I didn’t seem to notice it.

Either I confused it for a never-ending Monday or decided that Friday and Saturday would just look a lot like thick, thick work instead of the play days they were designed to be. Regardless, I spent the last 48 hours amidst a pile of mail crates stacked high in my hallway. 

It’s been that kind of endless weekend. Of sorting mail. Of ripping open endless amounts of envelopes. Of gaining a headache quickly over the sadness some people pour into their letters. Of counting & recounting & resorting & straightening over 1,000 pieces of mail. And staying grateful the whole way through.

So yesterday at letter 700, just as my fingers were about to divorce the rest of my body, I decided to watch a movie that’s been tethered to my to-do…

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