I glance out of the window. This is not strictly true; glancing implies a casual, quick, short look. I am staring intensely, with a mixture of hope, disappointment and frustration, at the large box that collects my post. It is, as usual, empty. The box, fixed to the door-post, is large for good reason; the Israel Postal Company, better known as Israel Post, makes very infrequent visits to keep me posted. When the postman does call, there is a thick wad of accumulated letters, bills and circulars.
The weather today is stormy: I hope that my postman is well; I don’t want to hear that ‘My postillion has been struck by lightning’. I certainly wouldn’t attend the post mortem.
Recent experience is not encouraging. A letter from my bank, asking me to visit, post-haste, to deal with a postdated cheque, took nearly two weeks to cover the couple of kilometers to my house.
While I am waiting, I play a little music. Some Post Malone, an American rapper, singer, and songwriter, although not enjoyable, seems appropriate. Luckily, I am as deaf as a post, so the music is not too painful. With nothing better to do, I think about the letter ‘o’ in the word ‘post’. It is, of course, Post-consonantal, as it comes after a consonant.
Another, almost furtive, look at the post box; still empty. I open my Facebook and look to see if I have a Dark post. These are ads that only appear in the newsfeeds of a selected set of users. I need to see them as they arrive; I don’t want to be pipped at the post.
The waiting is beginning to get to me. I feel that I am being dragged from pillar to post. To pass the time, I make a shopping list on a Post-it Note. I am not too careful; I can always make some post factum changes.
Another look through the window at the empty box; I am almost ready to desert my post. Perhaps it is time to lie between the four bed-posts that support the bed that supports me.
Suddenly, a flash of white catches my eye; yes, there is something in the box. I hurry to the door, open the box. To my horror, it is a newspaper, but not my beloved Times of Israel. No, it is the Jerusalem Post; who would want to read that?