The Waiting Game

Here I sit, jacked up on coffee at 11:45pm. I am waiting.

I have written the outline for my presentation, but I must wait to give it. I will then wait to find out if I will be chosen to go to Tanzania, Africa. I am waiting for more adventure. I am waiting for the travel I so crave, but I will never be satisfied by more. The more I crave, the more I travel and then... my wanderlust craves even more.

I have called our new probable landlords to arrange a meeting. The times were not set in stone. I must call them again, and then talk to them. And then I will wait to find out if perhaps I will be lucky enough to sign a rent-to-own contract and potentially buy the tiny little house, with a perfect little location. I am waiting to have a place of my own. A place to grow fruit trees. A place to decorate, to paint in, to live in, to love in.

I have packed all of my fire fighting equipment. I am waiting on a call. I am waiting for the rain to stop and the forests to once again dry up. I am waiting for an unthinking person to throw their cigarette out of the window of their car. I am waiting for the sparks to light up the trees... and the red flames to blaze hot.

I sit here and wait. I wait for my eyes to become droopy, and my mind to become still. I sit here and wait to be tired. I wait to crawl into my bed, under the covers, snuggle with my cats and my lover, and succumb my world to the dreams in my subconscious. La la dream land seems inviting.

I am waiting, but learning patience... has always been something I have eagerly waited for but never grasped.