This week I've been unsubscribing to almost everything that comes into my inbox. A few things I've felt horribly guilty about unscubscribing from -- causes I care about, political updates -- and some I've had to ask myself why the hell I've been deleting this for the past five years instead of just getting off the list. 

I remind myself I know where to find these things if I need them.

I keep waiting for the inbox to die down, if I'll be able to tell I eliminated things or if other things will just grow back to replace them, things from which I can't unsubscribe. People from whom I can't unsubscribe. (Now wouldn't THAT be great?)

I wonder if it will make me feel unimportant or lonely if the inbox isn't flooded. I try to remember the last time this happened. It's not that I am so important, you see, but more that I conduct so much of my life online and get automatically added to new product updates! and great deals! And I've since realized that I don't have any money for great deals, anyway, and my delete finger is sore from all that blah, blah, blah. All I want to do is go read a book, watch a movie, be entertained. I don't want to sort through catalogs or newspapers or coupons or email. I want to sit down and know I will be interested in that which presents itself before me. 

I'm having a day in which everything and nothing is interesting. My concentration lags and my eye keeps going to the window. It's Friday afternoon, and I have a lot to do, and I just don't want to.

I want to hear a story instead.

I think the faster I get through this mound of work, the faster I will get to my story.

Unsubscribe.

Unsubscribe.

Unsubscribe.

My work Outlook has been a little paranoid lately. It's suddenly begun blocking my co-workers, insisting they have malicious intent when they're really just trying to tell me which posts are most popular. I sat it down, tried to reason with it.

"There's nothing wrong with Denise Tanton," I said. "She's a really, really nice person."

My Outlook shook its head and stalked away, muttering something about a Denise it knew in high school.

Then, yesterday morning, I emailed something from my gmail to my Outlook. Something work-related. Something from me.

Outlook gasped and sat up in bed, eyes wild, hair flying -- and blocked it.

"What are you doing?" I shouted, fed up.

"I'm protecting you from yourself," it said, then collapsed.

I had to reboot. It knows not what it does.