a meltdown to Newman

I guess it was bound to happen.
It's been brimming for a while now.
But, I didn't expect it to happen today.
At the Post Office.
In SugarHouse.
To Newman.

The last time I made my way to my PO BOX to check my mail was on the way to the airport for the family vacation. It had been four weeks since I had picked up last. And they had to bring me my mail in one of those mail tubs.

No. Really.

(and okay, maybe my "car registration" notice was in there. And maybe the "we're going to turn off your power because you haven't paid your bill yet" was in there too.)

And well, I haven't been back since.
Until today.

I put my key in.
And the box was empty.

I stood in line to find out where my mail was, thinking that there was just too much again and they are just kindly holding it for me.

"There's no mail?" Newman asked (no really, there is a worker at the SugarHouse Post Office that looks JUST like Newman).

"No. I've been out of town and haven't been able to pick it up for 3 weeks so I'm assuming you're holding it for me?"

"Sounds like your box has been cancelled."

"Um, that can't be. Why would you do that?"

"Because you didn't pay your renewal."

"Oh, no...I paid my renewal. Of course I did."
(Please bless that I paid my renewal.)

And then Newman was gone for like 5 minutes.
Seriously.
He came back empty-handed.
Not. Good.

"Yep, your box was cancelled. It was up on August 10th and you never paid."

"That's not even possible. I've had this box for two years. I'm sure I paid. And even if I didn't...which I know I did...surely I would have been notified."

"They would have given you two warnings. Looks like they shut it down about 3 weeks ago."

"But there was nothing in my mail. I was just here 3 weeks ago and no one said anything."

"That's not possible. We wouldn't have given you your mail."

"But, it is...and you did. I can't believe this. This isn't happening to me. It's not. So, where's my mail?"

"It's all been sent back."

"WHAT? You sent my mail back? You didn't. Surely you didn't."

"Well, your box was cancelled. Do you want to rent it again? It's still available. You just have to pay the $15 lock change fee."

"But, my key still works."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes. It. Does."
(I'm sorry. Are we five? Am I really arguing about this?)

"Well, you have to pay it anyway. It's the policy."

"Look, Newman" (okay, so I didn't really say that but I SO wanted to), "I know this isn't your problem. It's my problem. And I realize you might not care. But, I have a PO BOX because I travel a lot and it's easier. And THIS is not easier."

I could feel the tears coming.
There was a line of people behind me.
This was not the place for tears.

I bit my lip.

And then they came.

I cried all the way home, wanting to call someone to tell them to talk me off a ledge.
But I didn't even know how to explain my meltdown to Newman?

Then I realized...
It's not about the mail.
Of course it's not.
It's about what this little episode, and several other episodes lately, represent.

I got home and collapsed on the couch.
And out of my mouth came words I rarely let myself say.
But, I said them out loud.
Ane He heard me.
And He told me to just get it all out.
So I did.

And eventually I calmed down.
Eventually.

And now I'm fine.

And I'm sure in the morning I'll figure out what to do.
And give it a few days and it might even be a funny story.
I mean, who melts down in a Post Office?
To a guy who looks like Newman?

Me.
That's who.

But, the bigger question...what on EARTH do I do now?
Surely I can never go into that Post Office again.
Can someone survive without a mailing address?
Is this the opening for my life as a fugitive?
Do you think I could pull it off?

Oh, and for the record, I've checked my stack of mail again.
Really.
No Notice.
Promise.