Checking the Mail

The office of my dorm is only open for four hours every weekday: 8-10AM and 4-6 PM (closed on weekends). Our mail boxes are in the office, so if you want to check your mail, you have to do it during those hours. During this school year, I have checked the mail maybe a dozen times total, most of those during the anxious month when I was waiting for a letter from my endocrinologist to prove to the Peace Corps I'm perfectly healthy. So the fact that I checked my mail twice today and anticipate this to be the trend until I have my invite in hand should really tell you something.

At first, I was determined to avoid becoming obsessive and only check the mail in the mornings after my jog. I came back to the building, ran downstairs, went to the office, and then headed back to my flat. No big deal, totally easy. No need to dwell any more on it. I decided to leave the building and work on campus to avoid even the possibility of temptation to check it again this afternoon. I mean, seriously, it's Monday. The invite was sent off on Friday at the earliest. No way it's going to be here yet. I diligently worked on campus all day, and when I finished everything I had, I went back to the dorm, smugly patting myself on the back for my clever plan to avoid the mail room. But an unconscious glance at my watch told me it was only 5:50. Oh no! I found myself seized with the desire to check the mail. No, no, there was no point! I had checked it this morning, it's only been one business day, it couldn't possibly be in yet. But what if it was?! What if it had been put on the first plane out and had been sitting in the mail room all day and I could have had my invite for all of that time?! Taking deep breathes, fighting for control, I entered my building and faced the elevator. Up would take me to my flat, but down...down would take me to the office. I hesitated. I admit it: I was weak. I was going to push up, really I was, my intentions were pure. But my traitor of a finger pressed the down button. That was it. I was doomed.

It's actually not excitement or anticipation or anything like that which has made me check my mail so regularly now. It's pure, unadulterated curiosity. I am So Freaking Curious about my invite! Where am I going? When am I leaving? What will I be doing? Of course I am excited, but it is 100% dwarfed by sheer curiosity. It's like a Christmas present under the tree when you're a kid. You weigh it in your hands, shake it, listening as hard as you can as if you could guess what's inside by the sound it makes. The curiosity burns inside of you, you just want to know what's hidden under that pretty paper and shiny ribbon. But you have to wait until Christmas morning, when all of the curiosity, all of the waiting, pays off in the sweetness of unwrapping the present and feeling that rush that comes from finally knowing. It doesn't even really matter what the present actually is. The feeling of curiosity being satisfied is such a pleasure in and of itself. Or at least it always has been for me.

So here I am, knowing full well I'm going to be checking the mail twice a day for the foreseeable future no matter how much I try not to, with curiosity welling up inside of me more and more with each passing day.

I wonder how long it takes a package to cross The Pond?