A Glimpse of Madness

I've always taken on the neuroses of girlfriends. I once dated a woman who had trouble mailing stuff - she'd try to find The Perfect Mailbox (they kept shutting off her phone and electric due to non-payment). I never understood what that even meant, but I nonetheless began to insist on The Perfect Mailbox. Right around then the USPS in NYC was doing a poor job of pick-up, so I kept running into post boxes on the street with letters backed up all the way to the slot, which really burned in my aversion.

I never fully shook off the mailing phobia, plus I have a longstanding problem with paperwork, bureaucracy and postal stuff in general (alert readers will recall that I once had a bad scene in a post office). Want to see the handwriting of someone doing three phobic things at once, frantically determined to crash through the barriers and get it done?

Behold, in full blown-up glory, the look of madness:

Every five characters or so, you can see where an undulating wave of anxiety sent my pen just slightly haywire before I wrested back control. I find it hypnotic, in a bad way, to look at. The zip code went ok, but those final two 2s look like the valiant last actions of a man running just ahead of an avalanche. They actually dented the paper a little; see the circular crater around "4122".

Now to find the perfect mailbox....