So I’m currently waiting for someone to come around to grab something so then I can head on out, and they’re late. No real biggie. It happens. No given time for when they’re going to get here, however, and I do have stuff to do.

It’s annoying. It’s frustrating. It’s all of these things that I want to say so as to be able to get to saying other things. It hurts the glands and I’ve had glandular fever before, and let me tell you, that was not a fun experience. But this hurts the glands and I am annoyed and frustrated and all of those other things that help get across the sense of annoyance and frustration and… yeah.

Can’t do much other than kill time and so killing time is what I am doing. I am doing my best t9o kill time in the most inefficient way I can imagine, and I’m imagining horribly. I’m imagining terribly. It is the way this all goes, sometimes, however, and so on and so forth and here is some more space wasted in order to get to the thing or whatever.

I really am running out of steam.

I’m racing. I’m racing hard. I’m racing across spaces and expanses, and I’m racing against myself. I am thinking about what it is that I need to compile and compose, and I’m thinking about how to get from here to there, and from there to here. How do I get this bit of writing done in a way that is as satisfying as it is interesting? Is there anything interesting that can be said and can it be said in a way that ensures that it is interesting?

What I’m really saying, however, is that the wait is frustrating me and I don’t know what to do. It’s one of those situations where I know that there are things that I can do, but I’m concerned about starting and getting into a good rhythm, only to have it interrupted, thus causing me to not have the whatever it is that I need ti keep the flow going, and thus starting up again and that’s never fun.

It feels like a long wait. A wait for nothing. A wait for something but really nothing at all, and little is changing. Sure, the time of day is changing. The heat outside is changing. The stages of the week are moving from to the next, and the air in here is changing, but I feel like I am in a stilled space. A space that does not reflect much of anything other than itself, or rather a life that wants some sort of ideal state, but cannot get there. Could be many reasons as to why, and it’s likely due to trying to bring back what cannot be.

So I’m sitting here, waiting, waiting some more, and waiting forever and a day. I’m waiting with all of my heart and I’m trying to fill the cracks and find the time, only to see it slip away so easily, as it always has. It always has and it always does, and that’s the way it goes, sometimes. That’s the way it always goes.

I’m wondering as to how much of my life I have spent waiting for things to happen. I’m wondering as to how much of my life I’ve just spent waiting. Is my life on hold? Am I just here, stuck in some perpetual cycle of nothing happening? Is everything that has come across my desk not actually mine, but rather someone else’s? I don’t know. Do I even belong to my own life? IS this a question worth asking?

I think it is good to ask questions. Habitually, it helps us better understand things, but sometimes I think it’s good to ask why we’re asking something. Not always, but sometimes. Sometimes you have to let a question go deep and pointless, and you have to let it sit within you and tear you up, but you can’t let it tear you up too much. You still have to make sure you’ve time to look after yourself and going too far can prevent that.

So I’m asking questions about waiting and I’m asking questions about what I’ve done with my bedroom setup, and I’m wondering if I’m trying to give myself some sort of comfort in familiarity when the familiarity I want is not the familiarity I have, and so the questions just keep coming and nothing changes and so here I am, waiting and waiting and waiting for another bit of time to flutter on past, to go past my nose and drift away as it is subsumed back into the the great body of which it was always a part, and so everything continues and nothing changes, but changes continues and it’s all going on eternally, and I’m watching the light change. It changes from bright to dull and a little darkened, and it’s all sorts of pleasant. I see it through a window and I see my life slipping away, fading out of view. I don’t know what I can offer myself at this point, and this wait is starting to get to me in ways I’d hoped it wouldn’t, but that’s the way that life happens sometimes. You can’t do much to change it, and really I am not being left behind. Really, my life isn’t slipping away. I’m just here, waiting and the waiting is getting to me so I’m trying to eat time.

Still, it has been a pleasant day thus far, and there’s still a bit of time to go, and that’s all nice. That, being the day itself. Sometimes waiting is frustrating, but it can be pleasant. I just wish I wasn’t so concerned about getting into a groove and getting things done. It makes it difficult to wait when there are delays, but that’s life. That’s part of waiting for things, and it’s not so bad.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 12:22:14

Decent speed. Very much a mess, but a decent speed. I do like where this went, but I feel I may have been hesitant and veered away from exploring.

Written at home.