I find myself sad to close it. It served me well for over a decade and I loved finding the yellow "a package is waiting for you" slip or a note from someone who just discovered one of my books and had to tell me about it by sending a letter. Paying a visit after a few weeks out of town was like unlocking a long-abandoned storage locker, one that might be full of treasure, and I have happy memories of using a trip to get my mail as a way to trick myself into getting a few miles of running in during the dead of winter.
I'm not sure what will happen to good old eighty-one forty-five next, but I'm about to find out. Or not...it probably transforms itself into a miniature black hole, from which nothing escapes. And yes, I've already made sure those checks don't cross that event horizon!