I am not going to let the mountain of ancient 12, 91 GB e-mails break me.

But when I am done reading and transferring the ones not deleted, I might decide never to have an e-mail ever again.

You may write to me by snail mail, preferably on scented paper, a red seal on the envelope, and handed to me by a man on a horse, that neighs while passing my balcony.

Thank you.