We all have access to one of these boxes in one form or another. Some foolishly believed there would be an end to the perils of The Box but alas, they were foolish.
As children, The Box held such exciting possibilities. It was filled with hope. It was filled with love. But even then, it was unpredictable and although it's contents sometimes contained disappointment, it never filled us with dread.
That's the power of The Box. It draws you in when you're young and free so that when adulthood arrives, you've learned to accept it as a part of your life.
The Box no longer represents the wonder of childhood but the miseries of adulthood.
Even though we know this, we still serve The Box. Attending to it at least weekly, if not daily. Filled with a dull sense of dread and grudging acceptance of The Box as an everpresent (although outdated) aspect of our lives that we can not manage to completely be free of.
So, like all of us, I take myself to The Box this morning and arrive home with the miserable contents held in my arms ( as I have managed to avoid The Box for an entire 5 days!). My husband looks up as I open the front door, a smile of blissful ignorance on his face, and then he looks down at the despair I carry with me. His eyes connect with mine.
And I tiredly reply, "That's right...more bills."
UGH!! I HATE BILLS!