I’m waiting

My existence running away at the mouth with foul words and thoughts of connections lost in the stratosphere of my minuscule patience. I wait and wonder at decisions made while razors slice the dead ends and I’m shiny and moist with electric strands rolling down my back. I wait and ponder thoughts of jumping rope and skipping while hating games and work and making senseless meaningful chatter to complete the wait.

What cents left over when I pay for my day I use to figure out how to end the wait, and is it worth the effort?

Does he know I’m waiting?

Senselessly I wander through my cluttered life, opening doors and closets, catching boxes carefully packed with the past before they fall to the floor and block the door while waiting and wonder what it feels like to want to date and why I long for eye contact when there’s cyberspace and robotic devices and the biggest thrill of my week is hands running through my hair at the salon.

I wait and think should I get massaged and use the last of my savings on closeness that means nothing and why do I wait? Why do I wait to be taken seriously when I want to frolic and play with passion and freedom and doesn’t he know I’m not looking for clutter or commitment?

I wait and fill my time (I have no time).

I wait and my days are filled with waking working lugging learning how to fix another cog in the never ending nightmare of a new server.  I wait for cables and wires and connections and outlets while fitting in new responsibilities with the time earned from those faster connections.  I wait and think – why does it take 45 seconds for Outlook to load and when did 45 seconds become eternity?