Ravi Ramasamudram, who are you? Where are you?

The New Year is almost upon us--2006, baby! G. and I are closing in on the two year mark of living in El Paso; well, actually, we're five months away from that anniversary, but it's coming. This January marks one year since we moved to this apartment with our little Filomena. This January also marks one year of getting the previous occupant's mail. At first, the mail was a flood of bills, statements, magazines, solicitations. Now, we mostly get letters from charities. Here's what I have learned about Ravi Ramasamudram:

1. He was on a heck of a lot of mailing lists: Special Olympics, Winter Olympics, Republican National Committee, any (and all it seems like) charity for debilitating diseases. Does that mean he gave money to one good cause and then got on the list for all of them? What's up with the Republicans?
2. He attended University of Massachusettes.
3. A neighbor from down the way (a very strange man, maybe not such a good source) told us he lived with his girlfriend.
4. He has not reconciled with his credit card companies.

Who doesn't leave a forwarding address? Did he leave the country? Did he ever stop to think about who would be stuck with his mail? The post office stops delivering his mail for a few weeks before it ends up in our box again. Very frustrating. I write "return to sender" on each piece of mail, plus "does not live at this address" and "take off mailing list." I think I need better, slightly threatening messages. G. suggested just throwing the mail away. Something about throwing it away seems unfinished to me--like tossing it in the trash creates a dead end. But there already is a dead end, no? I'm really annoyed at our mailman who knows Ravi doesn't live here anymore (I've told him, there's a notice in our box), yet still delivers his mail. All I want for Christmas is for Ravi's mail to go away.

On a much, much sadder note, eight years ago this coming January, my friend went missing. She was found three months later, in the desert. She was 18, I was 19. I still think about her all the time.