You Have A Book Deal To Document Spending The Rest Of Your Life In Your House, But You’ve Fallen In Love With Your UPS Carrier Day!
She lives her life in transit, in constant interaction with the world and its inhabitants. It’s her work and her calling. She can’t shut out the world the way you can. Your love is valuable to her, but her work she values as well.
"What kind of a book is that anyway?" she asks. "What is there to document of a life lived in four walls."
Volumes! you want to scream. You wish you could throw whole chapters at her mid-section to make her feel the heft of all the realms of experience you’ve toured. The wild flights inward. All the questions you’ve had answered by the silence. The many creative yet appropriate names you’ve given your furniture pieces and home accents.
"I once spent two years digging a hole in my kitchen so that I could reside at even further physical depths of my home," you tell her. "It was a vast, vast land."
She tells you that she simply can’t continue to see you unless you kiss her under the sun.
"But the book documents a man living the rest of his life under the roof of his home. if I step outdoors I am in breach of my contract," you explain. "There can be no suspension of the project’s premise. If it were to come out that I occasionally left the house, think of the damage it would do to sales."
"But you won’t even be alive to watch it sell," she insists.
"True. The book is supposed to be sent into editing the moment I am declared dead," tell her.
She says it’s all too sad, but she’s going and she’s never coming back, unless you step outside that front door with her.
Send her on her way. Your book won’t be worth the paper it’s printed on if the story it tells isn’t tragic.
"I love you, and when you go, I’ll love you," tell her.
She’s crying. She’s angry that this is really your choice.
"Promise me that you’ll outlive me," plead with her. "Promise me you’ll live long enough to read my book."
She promises. She goes. You’ll spend some years in regret, and other years knowing it’s for the best. She’ll die two years and eight months before you.
Happy You Have A Book Deal To Document Spending The Rest Of Your Life In Your House, But You’ve Fallen In Love With Your UPS Carrier Day!