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Showing posts from August, 2016

The Ticking, the Tocking, the Stopping

I twist my own fingers, & warm them - like a pianist preparing to perform her own concerto.

A little like that, but smaller.

My cup of caffeine is cold & almost empty, as the morning wanes.

A morning of waiting. Stillness, in its least filling form.

I quietly resolve to wait with better purpose than I normally do.

I am a waiter.

A right-on-timer.

If you tell me I need to be ready for something by 8a.m., I will try to wake up two hours before then, & be ready by 7:45. When the clock reads 7:56, I will already assume you are late, & might have died, until I stop & Read that aforementioned clock.

It's a little psychotic, the way I wait.

It's a panicky wait.

Eyes on the door, as if my very life depended on it.

Hands clutching the phone in case they contact me & it's desperate.

My idea of desperate has become wildly skewed.

"Desperate" is 5 minutes late, or worse, a cancellation.

If I'm really feeling like taking care of myself, I'll us…