Inside My House

Inside my house everything looks great today. Everything is in order. 

I have just thrown out all trash, rearranged the furniture and made it all just fine for me. Outside it is cold and wet and unpleasant. And full of such unpleasant people. It is a good day to stay inside.

Of course living indoors all the time one has to make adjustments. Especially if it is a very old house. For example, the floors are not very level. So my furniture is propped up on newspapers or wooden blocks to keep it stable. There are cracks in the ceiling and the walls, so I have to constantly plaster them up or cover them with wall paper. The roof leaks, but this is easily enough cured with a bucket. Or two. 

And why would I want to do anything else? Understanding the cause of these problems would require that I go outside into the rain and the cold. I’d have to go outside to see why the earth is shifting and my foundation is cracking. Did I mention the unpleasant people outside?

Of course, sometimes I am interrupted. My neighbors knock on the door and tell me they can see that shingles are missing from my roof. They can see one corner of the house is sinking. 

This isn’t news I want to hear. I try to explain through the crack in the door how cozy and warm and well put together my house really is. How excellent every part of it is. How tasteful the decorations.

But maybe I shouldn’t tell them so much, because with the door open I feel the chill and the rain. Did I mention how unpleasant they are? 

You see their problem is precisely that they are outside the house. They are out in the wind and the cold and the rain. Instead of looking at my house from outside where they will see all of these unpleasant things, they should see things from my perspective, they should see that all is good.

I could let them in. As long as they behave like the guests they are, and don’t bring their unpleasantness inside. I mean why should they bring all their shivering and dripping with water and talk of shaking ground and shifting foundations. If they come in like that it wouldn’t really be my house would it? It wouldn’t be cosy, safe, and warm. 

You see what I fear: first it will be a few of them, then many, and pretty soon the door will be propped open. Then there will be more and more with them. Then the wind and rain will blow through the open door. Then it wouldn’t be cosy, safe, and warm.

Of course I wish I could help them, I really wish I could help them. So I will help them.

Out. 

They’ll be happier where they are at home; out in the cold and rain. They are used to it. And I’ll be happier where all is cozy, safe and warm.

Then all I need is locks. Locks on the windows and locks on the doors, an attic full of wall paper and paint and a kitchen full of buckets. And every so often to throw out the trash.