GMAIL-ed

Dear G-Mail,
Why do you have to die? Why do you not let me check to see if anyone important, like Beth has e-mailed me new and exciting apartments to look at in the greater Philadelphia Region? When will you come back to me? I miss you. I miss the way you greet me with open arms every time I get the urge to see if people want to communicate with me through written words on a screen and the way that you save my ideas every few moments so that I don't lose entire e-mails when I accidentally hit the wrong button. Mostly I miss the way I am able to check you compulsively when I am sitting at the Walnut Street Theatre on a boring Monday night when no one is here to entertain me. Yes, I AM 12 years old and need constant attention.

Wish you were here. Hugs and cyberkisses,
Amanda Marie

p.s. I want to put my words all over you.