I wake each morning excited to see my emails. I am looking for one, that one from my dearest girlfriend who has been through it all with me. She was the one who was there through all the big moments that led to the life I know lead. The one who laughed and cried with me on the floor one night when we asked ‘could it get any worse?’ and we promptly found out it could, with her cutting her hand on broken glass and I, smashing my already smashed head, trying to help her. She has emailed me almost every day since I became pregnant with Lily and was so ill with morning sickness. I needed someone I could be raw with, be silly with, be afraid with and would take each sentence in the email as a stand alone so I could change my feelings as fast as I needed.

Today I got other emails. I got an email from a business venture that I did not clarify enough, that turned sour for all involved, as things were assumed that never materialised. I got an email from my brother, the only person in the world who seems to be able to make me homesick with no effort at all. I love him dearly, talk to him a few times a year but when he does talk to me, it rips me up that I am so far away. This evening as I write here I have just had an email from a friend in crisis, and I await to hear from two other friends who are in stressful times. I have become dependant on email for communication. I like the form, I like that I can write back thoughtfully by waiting until my thoughts are clear, I like that  both people can say all they need without interruption. It has its weaknesses, like tone is hard to convey, and proof reading is important as autocorrect is not always a friend, but all in all, when I look at my computer and there is a little red number beside the postage stamp, I smile… wondering who is reaching out and marvelling at the joy of keeping in contact with people all over the world so easily.