I feel I spend about 85-95% of my time just waiting.
Waiting for big stuff and little stuff to happen: waiting for long-term and short-term stuff to hit my radar.
I feel like I’m always waiting on the dog to complete a bowel movement.
I wait on the kettle to boil.
I find myself waiting for one of my children to call and tell me they’re ready to be picked up.
I end up waiting for innumerable sporting events to begin. And then I wait on those blessed final minutes when they end.
I wait for more messes to be made so that I inevitably have to clean them up.
I wait for things to break, or get trashed or simply not turn up.
I wait around for friends to invite me over so that I have an excuse to drink.
I’m waiting for those last ten pounds to drop.
More times than I care to count I have to wait for other people to make decisions so that I can make my own.
I wait around for inspiration to strike so that I can do something other than waiting.
Frequently I can’t wait to read my favorite blogs. Then I have to wait for newer posts. But ultimately I have to wait for a spate of courage to invade my soul in order to leave a comment.
I usually can’t wait until after dinner so that I no longer have to wait to go to bed.
I’m waiting for that moment of clarity and understanding when the purpose for my existence reveals itself.
I’m waiting to discover what is “normal”.
I’m waiting for final confirmation – that I’m really full of shit.
I’m waiting for reassurances that my kids will grow up to be good people – that I didn’t mess them up.
I’m unconsciously waiting for the other shoe to drop – and find out that I’m not that resilient after all.
I’m waiting for people to stop being so mean. Or ultra-sensitive. Or insecure. Or unthinking.
Or maybe I’m waiting for the uncomfortable truth to be revealed that I’m all of those things – and then some.
And as existential as this sounds, maybe in spite of all the things we accomplish and manage to get done, we are all just waiting to disappear. Get turned back into dirt.
