In modern times it has become customary to complain about how much email one gets, as if to validate one's stature as a member of the productive class. As in: "I am so weighed down by my inbox!" or "Sometimes after dinner I have to spend 90 minutes responding to it all!" You know what I'm talking about.
With the rise of automated sorting tabs within email, which shun much of the fluff to my "other" tab in Outlook or to "Social" or "Marketing" in gmail, it's less of a problem. Honestly there are days when I don't get more that three to five emails addressed to me by humans. I'm OK with that. In fact, I like it!
Yes there are still texts, which are more like mosquitos compared to the horsefly that is the email. But I can turn off notifications on my phone and ringfence them pretty good. I know longer feel like I need my inbox to demonstrate to me how important I am. I leave that to you, fair reader.
And my beautiful wife and children.
Now, there was the time earlier this week when Mary failed to look at her texts when she was supposed to be paying attention to come and pick me up when I was in the middle of my flat tire saga. But that's a tale for another day. She still maintains my affection.
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