I’m not sure I’m going to finish NaNo this year. Too much life going on, and possibly even some death. And if that doesn’t crimp your style, you’re a more dedicated writer than I am. But here’s some of what I’ve managed to produce today.

“Where do you see us in a thousand years, Andrew?” The question came out of nowhere, breaking the relative quiet of a wet Portland late fall afternoon. A heavy mist that aspired towards being called rain lent ambience to the day without actually inconveniencing anyone. Damp weather didn’t deter Andrew or Tara; any park bench they chose would be clean and dry no matter the season.

“I’d say, right over there.” He pointed to a bench at the other end of the park.

“Very funny. Ha ha.”

“Sorry, love.” Andrew sighed and looked heavenward for a long minute. “I’m not sure I understand the question, to tell you the truth.”

“I don’t know. I feel like nothing has changed in the last thousand years. It’s good. It’s great, actually. But is this it?”

He looked her in the eye and said, “Yes. This is it. You’re going to live as long as you want. You have love, and friendship, and the ability to do anything you want to do, any time you want to do it. The most dangerous thing someone in our position can do is start thinking that there always has to be something new. You can get addicted to ‘newness’ just as much as you can get addicted to booze or drugs.”

“What if it gets boring?”

“Then do something about it. Life is only what you choose to make it, remember?”

Tara rolled her eyes. “That’s one of her song lyrics, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I’m sure she’d be just as mortified as you are that I’m quoting it in this context. And don’t change the subject.”

“I can if I want to.”

“But avoiding the issue only prolongs the unhappiness.”

“But…”

“And you can get addicted to unhappiness, too. Why else would so many people needlessly wallow in misery? I mean, yes, there’s more than enough genuine misery to go around. What the hell is your excuse, then? I could find a hundred thousand people in this city who would gladly kill to have your advantages right now, and your responsibilities are relatively light. To put it bluntly, you have no excuse.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair. And I’m tired of watching you mope about, wishing life would hand you something when you don’t even know what it is you want.”

“Oh, and you’re Mr. Perfect.”

Andrew laughed. “Didn’t you know? I thought everybody knew.”

“Stop that,” Tara said, but it was too late. She was already smiling.