I'm not good at it.
It sucks, and I mean big time.
Yet it appears to be the thing I do the most of these days. For example, right now, I'm waiting for a call to find out if I'm in the play or not. I'm also waiting for my toes to warm up, waiting for the time when I can leave for Peace Corps, waiting for that special someone to sweep me off my feet. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
I hate it. I feel like life is out there, happening, and I'm stuck in the far lane of traffic, unable to get to the action. I feel the minutes of my life ticking by, fading into oblivion, into a universe that I can't visit. And they are gone, my minutes are gone. My hands are tied against doing anything but waving at the minutes as they traipse out the door. I feel like I should be doing something, anything, but there are walls everywhere and I'm fresh out of dynamite to bust through them.
Ever feel like that? While it's a horrid feeling, it would be nice to know that others feel it too. I keep trying to make the most of each day but when each day is a copy more or less of the day before, you start to wonder what exactly is the point.
What are you waiting for? What holds you back? These are the questions I'm pondering now. Seems like the only thing useful in the waiting is the thinking, as long as I don't do too much of that. I over analyze, I've been told. I'll chew on things until they are unrecognizable fragments of the thoughts they once were. Too much chewing is bad for the heart so I try to keep it to a limit, but the longer I wait, the more I think and the nasty little cycle starts again.
So, I think I'll go read one of my new books and try to not wait for that call. Why I'm anxious about a call that is going to say "thanks but no thanks" I can't quite figure, but I'm trying not to think about that to much.
Farewell. Good night sweet void, please be kind to my minutes as they fly through you tonight.