the empty inbox

I cleared out my e-mail inbox last week for the first time in I can't remember when. There's always a few lingering e-mails, links forwarded on by friends that lead to sites too fat for my dial-up connection or some digest of messages from the Tom Waits group I belong to or the occasional note from an old acquaintance that gets left like leftover Chinese food in the back of the fridge offering promise and possibility, but eventually just has to be dealt with. But this last weekend, I had time and desire and weeded my way through the dozen or so bits and reached that coveted goal of zero. Now the emptiness stares back at my like that white page or canvas or lump of clay, but even worse, this emptiness isn't filled by my hand but by the whims of the great e-mail god (or goddess? yeah, somehow, makes more sense to me that he is a she), so goddess blessing my meager dry little box with the sweet rain of communication, ah yes. But until then, silence and white space.