Through the little window

At this very moment, there is a letter — from either a publisher or an agent — waiting in my mailbox. I can see it. The fate of my novel is just barely visible in the plastic window.

Why haven’t I read it? No, not willpower or moment-savouring.
Darling Husband has the only mailbox key!!!!!!!!!!!!!! God, grant me SERENITY!
Part of me feels it is another rejection. Not because I’m pessimistic, but because if they wanted to publish my novel, wouldn’t they like … call? Or e-mail? Snail mail is so 20 years ago.
Although my university acceptance came in the mail … no, wait, that was a phone call first. Damnit!
Thirty minutes until Darling Husband gets home with the freaking key … The wait is on …

So what do you think?

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