My heart jumps each time the phone rings. Sinks each time it’s not
“the call.”
I check my mail incessantly, hitting refresh in millisecond
increments. If I leave home for an errand or go to the bathroom, I
travel with all the phones. I rush back to the computer hoping it
came in the two minutes I wasn’t clicking.
I create the worst possible scenario in my mind and get myself all
wound up. Why did I even think it was possible? Who am I kidding really?
I listen to an uplifting song and get my second wind. Maybe not
hearing soon is actually a good sign. Maybe this is possible after
all. Maybe. Maybe not. Good news travels fast, they say.
Waiting is exponentially more devastating than even the worst
possible outcome, sometimes. It’s a place where the hopeless and the
most hopeful collide, leaving me incapacitated.
And still, there’s nothing I can do, but wait.
Two thoughts:
(a) Good things come to those that wait; and
(b) Waiting is as painful as a slow death.
I keep repeating (a) as I sit and wait, and wait, and wait.
At least I’m waiting with good company!
During a previous relationship, the one I had before I met my husband now. I sat by that phone, clung to my moby, checked that inbox daily for a sign, a message, something that said “You are I did it faithfully for FOURS YEARS and I always had to be the one to make the call. This would have continued for eternity or when he vanished whichever was sooner. After a baby and a lot of “truth digging”… I found the courage to change my number, change my resisdence, smash my moby and never open that inbox ever again. I don’t believe he looked for me. I don’t believe he really noticed I had gone… but I am sure glad I left that horrible, heart-numbing state of existence.