I hate email.
No, that's not strong enough.
I detest, loathe, abhore, execrate, abominate, anathematize, disapprove of, am appalled, disgusted, fed up, and disabused by, have disfavor and disaffinity for, shudder at the sight of, and just generally Don't Like email. Email is the bane of my existence, my nemesis, the stone in my shoe, the fly in my soup, the seed between my teeth, the pea under my mattress, the crud beneath my wings, the monster in my closet that fills me with the gnawing feeling that some Thing is lurking in the shadows ready to grab me. Email is annoying and incessant in its demands, like sitting in the middle row of a hot, crowed airplane on the way to a Colicky Baby Conference. Email is a silent tumor, growing slowly but steadily in the dark. Email is the strange, disheveled, malordorous man holding a suspicious, crumpled sandwich of dubious origins, staring at me from across the subway aisle. Email is the Destroyer of Time, the Mother of All Guilt, the Evil-That-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Gaping Maw whose appetite is insatiable. My email is really gross; my email I hate the most.
Last night I went on a bender, staying up till almost 3AM where, like Jacob, I wrestled with the angel of email, finally bringing it to its knees. When I left it last night, my email reader was sitting in a corner, exhausted and softly sobbing from the torrid encounter. Superior organic intellect had triumphed, leaving me with just three unprocessed emails.
Until I work up this morning when, like a bad burrito, my email came back up, demanding attention.
There's gotta be a Better Way.
But please, don't email me any suggestions...