Acta Est Fabula
Well. Its 8am:
That might be the prettiest time I’ve ever seen.
I’ve been waiting a long time for this. A week actually, but it has felt like decades. To be honest, I don’t believe it. I don’t trust my eyes or even my brain at this point.
Maybe I just don’t want to leave my tent. Its been everything to me this past week: my bed, library, garage and storehouse. My home. Can I just up and leave that loyalty behind?
Second guessing at this point will condemn me to purgatory and more likely a lifetime of mussels. Perhaps a pep talk is in order:
Yes freedom damnit. For the first time in a week, I’ve entered the house.
So its onward to the only destination I care about, the fridge:
Oh the lights are so bright. Am I at the Pearly Gates? St. Peter, is that you?
Yup, no doubt about it, I am.
Instead of splitting up all the various parts of a meal I decied to have them all at once, in the greatest breakfast technology ever created: the egg sandwich. Sausage, egg, cheese, bread and ketchup:
Perfection on a bun cooked by my mother’s hand. Delish. She may have saved my life, or my mind at the very least. I’m amazed I even have the willpower to stop and take a picture midway
Oh and don’t worry I made sure to sample some (all) of the other treats hiding out as well. Like eggplant. God bless eggplant. I’m like a little kid let loose inside a Toys R Us with mom’s Amex.
Next on the agenda is to get clean. A week’s worth of ash, dirt and other generally unpleasant residue cannot be easy to wash off. I’m thinking a brillo pad and a baptismal font might be needed.
Brushing my teeth two, maybe three times is also a good idea, and will hopefully get the rancid taste of mussels out of my mouth. If not, I think my mom has a power-washer laying around that might do the trick.
Clean clothes! God they smell good, and not even stained. Is that a bed? I just blacked out.
Ultimately though, its off to the airport to pick up my girlfriend. While some time out in the Hamptons is a vacation for most people, I think she’ll be playing nurse for the next few days. Oh she’s going to looooooove this.
Before I head out to get her though, a conversation I had with my father yesterday comes to mind. He was wondering if I would find the end of this little adventure anticlimactic. Would I be disappointed when it was over?
Not a chance in hell.
Obviously I want the self-inflicted pain to end, but it goes deeper than that. I see the end of this as being the finish to a good story. There was lead-up, plot and subplots, drama, humor, irony, villainy (damn dog), adventure, heartbreak, a climax and finally a satisfying conclusion. Sure we all want that good story to go on forever, but would it be our favorite tale if it just dragged on? Not according to Johnny Carson and he was a far greater man than I.
I’m ok with leaving this tale where it is now, but don’t worry I won’t leave you hanging. As I mentioned before, to every good story there’s always an epilogue.
For now however, I understand my place in the universe and leave you on this note:
June 17th, 2008 at 9:40 am
Huzzah! Rejoice, rejoice!
June 17th, 2008 at 9:46 am
Is it too late to eat the dog?
As I hink back at all you have written, I think it is most important thing we have learned is: in nature you live by the sword and die by it as well. And, what goes around comes around. I am referring to the thrill of victory of having food (by elicit means) and agony of defeat by losing it by theft.
Now that’s ironic!
June 17th, 2008 at 11:26 am
Congrats! You made it. You must have eaten that sandwich in less than 5 seconds.
June 17th, 2008 at 4:53 pm
I’m curious what the next episode of survivor is going to be about and where. Your dad already told me your cut of from his property. I have just one question for you. what happened to your wilson. Did you eat him. Congrats