I hate waiting.
I suppose everyone does but most folks handle it so much better than I do; at least that’s how I see it. I will not do something I really want to do, rather than stand in line.
Sunday morning, for example, I stepped across the street to the little neighborhood bakery that makes the best garlic sourdough bread and bran muffins I have ever tasted.
Did I mention that the muffins are soaked in honey? Uh huh. But the line was out the door and down the block, and so I passed on my muffins and settled for toast and jam.
I wish I had more patience.
As a writer, it is a definite shortcoming. Right now, I have a dozen stories out there, making the rounds, and I just added another three to the mix. And the responses are so slow coming back.
Don’t these people know I am waiting? Don’t they know how much I hate to do that? And there’s not a thing I can do but sit and fidget and write more stories.
Some days I think that even rejection is better than waiting.
I am reminded of the old cartoon of two vultures perched on a dead tree limb. Nothing is moving around them and one is saying to the other: I don’t want to wait anymore. Let’s kill something!