I am not a patient person. I don’t know how to relax, I can’t sit still, and I hate waiting in line. I staked out our mailbox a full month before college acceptance letters were due. I couldn’t eat for a week after interviewing for my job. I almost kidnapped our cat from the animal shelter when they took a whole weekend to check our references.
So it should come as no surprise that waiting is driving me batshit. The BP is out there, possibly being read RIGHT NOW. The phone might ring any second, like RIGHT NOW…or RIGHT NOW…or RIGHT NOW…and I throw up a little every time I get an email.
F is surprised I don’t have an ulcer by now—especially since I’ve always been this way:
Thursday, July 4, 1996 8:57 pm [Age 15]
I’m sitting here in the quiet car. Outside, the sky is dark and cold. Rain is squeezed from the invisible clouds, floating behind a certain of night.
I am waiting for my parents and sister to come and drive us all away to the Point for the fireworks. It seems as though I’m always waiting. I have been waiting for as long as I can remember for something to happen. I know how dangerous that is. To wait for the “something” that is supposed to change my entire life for the better. It ruins a person.
People who wait, wait forever and miss everything because they are constantly looking for something else.
Tonight I said something I didn’t mean. At dinner we were discussing karate, and Mom said that the real purpose of karate is to learn how to deal with what we don’t like in life—to learn “the lessons.” At that point, I said rather loudly, “I’m tired of lessons!”
Of course, I do love lessons, so I didn’t really mean that. Then again, I suppose I did mean what I said because all the “lessons” I’ve been learning are negative.
Sitting on my bed—a greenish glow enveloping my room by my new lamp, which used to be in the living room. I don’t think anything I was writing before has any importance. The 4th of July has some magic power that lets me see how life really should be lived. Happily.