DEEPLY AWAKE – WAITING
I am sitting at a table in a public library, three of us gathered to work on our books, our November task with NaNoWriMo, our labor of love and self-indulgence, and yes, there is some dreaming involved.
And I sit here, looking at the pale aqua Formica desk this laptop I love so much now rests on, listening to my old friend J.S. Bach explain things to me with his fugues, and I am waiting. Just waiting.
I feel like I always have been waiting, that in one way or the other, every day has some portion of it devoted to this thing with which I've developed such a twisted relationship. Waiting.
I know I have kicked myself a lot for having the patience of Job, and kicked myself equally hard for just not knowing when to hold my horses sometimes. Rushing forth from the gate long before anyone has given any indication they are ready, some spaz in a pale pink jogging suit, running like she's never gone more than a couple yards before, just hollering, “Whee! Let me at 'em.” And then there is her sister, unwilling to get out of bed, not caring that the sheets are filthy, just letting it all go into stasis and lengthy introductions, excruciating meetings, decisions made, relationships formed, relationship sucks, relationship dissolves, and once again, I am huddled beneath my blanket, wishing all the pain would just go away, and knowing no one else is quite this psychotic about normal things.
