Voicemail

Some days (okay, most days) I feel compelled to change my voicemail greeting to something like this:

"Hi, you've reached Emily. If you actually need to get in touch with me please send me an email or text message. Chance are, I won't check my voicemail messages until well past midnight, upon which I will feel the sting of jealousy knowing that you are asleep at that time of night, and refuse to return your call under the guise of "politeness" towards those who have schedules different than mine - as in those of you who do sleep. I will then delete your message, make a mental note to call you back in the morning, and promptly forget. I'm sorry, but it is true. I have a problem admitting that my memory bank is fuller than my voicemail. So in all seriousness, send me an email. And don't judge me if I respond past midnight, just be happy I didn't wake you up with a return phone call. Beeeeep."

What Happens To A Dream Deferred?

"What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?"
-Langston Hughes, A Dream Deferred