I hate waiting.
A few weekends ago, my dear South American snapped at me because I was running about 5 minutes late to meet him. What all my friends found funny was that the American was late. I may be, perhaps, the only American on the planet who is consistently late for everything...except work.
There's a reason for this. Reread the first sentence.
I have worked diligently to be as prepared as possible for my upcoming trip, and I am very surprised to be able to admit that I'm even packed...except for some incidentals that will go in my carry-on. My homework is as complete as possible. The laundry is done. I will soon load up all the dogs' stuff for the kennel so it is ready for me in the morning.
This, my friends, is something new.
And now I wait. I did all this because I have a very special surprise for someone, and I wanted to make sure that I didn't ruin the chance to experience it with some last minute, frantic flurry of activity to leave for the airport in time. Yet, like in most situations, I am not in control of other people. So the gift is wrapped in gold foil, ivory ribbon, and embellished with six seashells. The handmade card (with an original poem) is sitting in its handmade envelope. Six cupcakes are still on the shelf of my refrigerator.
And I wait.
The problem with waiting is that I am spending the time plotting a delicious scheme to show my frustration if I find that all my preparations were for naught. I currently see six cupcakes smeared to a front door. (Don't worry, though. Even in my rage, I could not bear to damage the gift.) I've gone through several scenarios that could all be accomplished with Oscar-worthy dramatics and perhaps a phone call to the police.
Sigh.
And I hate this.
A few weekends ago, my dear South American snapped at me because I was running about 5 minutes late to meet him. What all my friends found funny was that the American was late. I may be, perhaps, the only American on the planet who is consistently late for everything...except work.
There's a reason for this. Reread the first sentence.
I have worked diligently to be as prepared as possible for my upcoming trip, and I am very surprised to be able to admit that I'm even packed...except for some incidentals that will go in my carry-on. My homework is as complete as possible. The laundry is done. I will soon load up all the dogs' stuff for the kennel so it is ready for me in the morning.
This, my friends, is something new.
And now I wait. I did all this because I have a very special surprise for someone, and I wanted to make sure that I didn't ruin the chance to experience it with some last minute, frantic flurry of activity to leave for the airport in time. Yet, like in most situations, I am not in control of other people. So the gift is wrapped in gold foil, ivory ribbon, and embellished with six seashells. The handmade card (with an original poem) is sitting in its handmade envelope. Six cupcakes are still on the shelf of my refrigerator.
And I wait.
The problem with waiting is that I am spending the time plotting a delicious scheme to show my frustration if I find that all my preparations were for naught. I currently see six cupcakes smeared to a front door. (Don't worry, though. Even in my rage, I could not bear to damage the gift.) I've gone through several scenarios that could all be accomplished with Oscar-worthy dramatics and perhaps a phone call to the police.
Sigh.
And I hate this.
Comments