The Waiting Place

As a follow up to my previous post, now I’m bored.

What I didn’t mention in my last post, after all the self-congratulations and pie eating had been done, was that most of the time was spent waiting. In offices, on a bus, for a phone call, or for test results to come back.

Kind of like in that Dr. Seuss book “Oh, the Places You’ll Go”:
Waiting for a train to go,
or a bus to come or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for a Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

I shouldn’t be complaining. I gave myself two months to accomplish everything on my list, and I think that I’m slightly ahead of schedule (even with the extras that got thrown in, like the hard drive saga). But the most annoying thing about being restless is when I know that I need to rely on others to help me accomplish something, and I also know that they are busy and I may not be their first priority.

Me being respectful I will sit on my hands and keep my mouth shut, and watch “Howl’s Moving Castle” for the five hundredth time.
Or I’ll make cookies again, much to the delight of my family, and the chagrin of my former coworkers.

But I have never liked the waiting place. It is grey, and soft, and pliable, with no discerning borders. It is a place that echos with words like “eventually”, and “perhaps”, and “another time”. Clocks do not work in the Waiting Place, for this place is timeless and does not have a known end date.

The Waiting Place; purgatory for those that are not quite bored, but not quite occupied.

There are things that I do to bide my time, while I find myself here, in addition to the actual checklist. I bake, and cook, and clean, and read, and write. But as more and more items are crossed off my checklist, and I get closer and closer to finalizing some other things, I find myself reaching for the door to let me out of this place – even though I don’t currently have anything on the other side. Heck, I don’t even know where the door is.

But, I have been in this place before, and we are old friends. I know that, sometime soon in the future, I will be granted leave from the Waiting Place. My ticket will be punched and I will be allowed through that elusive door to whatever waits on the other side.

Probably a job. Definitely something that will keep me busy on a more routine schedule.

Whatever it is, I do know that I will occasionally look back fondly at the time I spent in the Waiting Place, if only because at least I was able to enjoy my coffee without doing something else.

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