As the clock displays 5:00, I shuffle down the stairs and into the kitchen. (I may or may not be wearing pants, and it’s fine, because, ‘Rona.) I scratch my Doberman Pinscher’s head, then rummage through the wine fridge.
Today, I am uncorking this bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon because I am waiting.
I am waiting for a closing date on my refinance.
I am waiting for someone to come hook up my fiber internet.
I am waiting for two agents to get back to me about my manuscript.
I am waiting for someone to finish building my pole barn.
I am waiting for my insurance company to call me back.
I am waiting for the credit union to mail me my stupid debit card.
I am waiting for quarantine to end.
I am waiting for that damn Amazon package.
I am waiting for warmer weather.
I am waiting for Susan at work to finally respond to my email.
I am waiting for Netflix to load, because I still have shitty internet.
I am waiting for my friend in Vietnam to wake up and see the hilarious meme I left on her Messenger.
I am waiting for this damn zit on my face to go away.
I am waiting for 10,000 followers to fly out my ass.
And my mind is exploding, because I am an adult who uses words like “refinance,” “fiber,” “building,” “agents,” “insurance,” “debit,” and “Quarantine” in complete, exasperated sentences while I drain an entire bottle of wine.
Sometimes it feels like all we do is wait. We are constantly anticipating the following moment, the coming week, the next greatest thing. We are waiting for this to end, for that to start, for this to come, for that to leave.
I think I’m waiting to stop waiting.
I am waiting for the day there is no longer anything to wait for.
Does that exist?
Wait and see.