You know, for all my mailbox has been deluged with LJ-notifications from two months ago, in a way it's kind of fun. Sort of like the Wells Fargo wagon is delivering my comments. (And possibly a box of maple sugar for my birthday. Or a grey mackinaw.)
I just sit back and pretend I'm Michael J Fox in the Back to the Future movies*, and Doc is sending me letters from where he's gotten stuck in June 27th.
* Only taller, and having ditched the pegged jeans.