"The Waiting Is The Hardest Part."

As quoted by Tom Petty, the waiting is the hardest part.  Especially if waiting is not, nor ever has been, my forte'.  Or, "The Waiting Is Almost Over," by, uh, me.  It is and it isn't.  I mostly do not like to wait in line.  A line that doesn't move is more than aggravating, it is practically intolerable.  Some people are darn good at it, though. For me, waiting is a unpracticed virtue.

Today, as it opened out for me, was one of polarizations.  I was not feeling too sure of myself but it seemed as if every body I ran into was sure of me.  I was asked for, and gave, advice to an old friend who has been having the same problem for a couple of years.  An ex-girlfriend's daughter keeps asking him for money.  I pointed out to him that he just went through this a few months back and my advice to him now is the same as it was then: don't do it.  He asked me because I have children and he doesn't, except for the ex-girlfriend's daughter, who is not his child.  I explained my own dealings with my daughter and how I refused to pay her lawyer bill.  He wrote me back saying how much he appreciated my advice then went on to say how wise I am.  Me?  Goddam!  Wise? WTF? I appreciate it.  I want to believe it.

My co-teacher in the Night Program and I talked for a bit today also.  That is difficult because we both are constantly running across the parking lot at school to the photocopier or running to get something a student needs or just trying to keep up with the academic activity in the classroom.  I ran into him in the lobby of the main building and stopped to remind him I was going to be gone Tuesday due to being in court for the divorce finale'.  We talked about it for a minute then moved on to books and what we are reading.  Then, later, for the first time in 18 years, we ended up having dinner together.  It wasn't planned, I just decided to eat in the staff room, away from my desk and those pesky students who will ask you a question even if they see your mouth is full.  He happened to come in to eat his dinner while I was there.  He and I have a similar viewpoint on life.  He was raised in a Fundamentalist household, went to a Free Methodist university, where he met his wife.  He eventually grew away from the church which caused a huge dilemma for him as his wife and her family were devout FM's.  In addition, they have a disabled daughter who needs constant care.  I'm not sure if they put her in a home or not.  I know they were thinking about it.

As we chowed down, I was having a black bean curry soup I made and he was having a salad, we talked and shared our passions.  He has discovered skate skiing which, as far as I can tell, is like cross country skiing but more like rollerblading.  He says it makes him be totally in the moment.  He also mentioned the incredible endorphin rush he gets from the activity.  I talked about my reduced passion for clay and wondered to him if it would come back or ir I was done with it.  I also told him I liked playing drums but didn't want to be in a band.  I had decided that I enjoyed the workout of playing and the aspects of coordination that I dealt with while playing.  Keeping two arms and two legs moving in a rhythm isn't easy but for me, playing for 51 years, it is really a subconscious movement.  Still, even though the most joy or satisfaction I have had has been playing with a band, it had become much like other creative activities for me lately.  It had fallen off.  I went on to say that I had started writing again.  He asked when I stopped.  About the time I got married, I replied.  He nodded.  I told him that of my three creative endeavors, "hobbies," none could be sustained while partaking in the other.  When I started the band Not Dead Yet, my clay work suffered.  Sales went down.  Yet, when the band broke up, I didn't get back into clay as hard as I thought I would.  So now, I told him, I was writing.  I don't know if I have anything to say but if I do, I want to work on saying correctly.  I told him the thesaurus was my best friend while writing (although I do not have one with me now.)  We finished eating and went back to work.  I feel for him as he teaches math and science.

Earlier, I passed through the lobby on my way out the back door and passed by another teacher's classroom who hailed me as I passed.  Her father, whom I had met, had passed away peacefully in his easy chair watching tv, alone.  Her sister had taken photographs of him sitting there, dead. Did I want to see him?  What do you say?  I looked at the photos.  Yes, he looked dead, not asleep, in his chair.  Maybe he looked dead and not asleep because I knew he was dead when the photos were taken.  She knew I was in court Tuesday and asked how I was doing.  I admitted I wasn't feeling too keen on myself at that particular moment.  She encouraged me by telling me she knew I was a good person the minute she met me.  Fucking psychics.  How do you know that about a person right away?  I mean, can't we all put on a good act now and then?  So how do you know I'm a good person right away?  I didn't say any of this out loud.  Really, though, I cannot pretend very well.  It is too confusing to my mind.  I have trouble enough remembering faces and names let alone keep track of which lies I have told to who.  It never works.  Not for me, anyway.  I have met two vacuum cleaner sales people in the last couple of weeks that are good liars.  I think to be a good liar, you have to believe your lie.  Of course that is a conundrum because why believe a lie?  I would say that you believe in a lie for, in the case of the sales people, the possibility of monetary gain outweighs the fact that your product is no different than anyone else's.  Or you believe a lie because either you know no better or to not believe is too painful.  Maybe that's where faith comes from.  It's just a fact that I don't lie well enough to make anyone believe me.  My daughter is the same way.

Which segues us into the divorce hearing Tuesday.  I would be lying if I said it doesn't bother me to be getting divorced (again) but it bothers me because I was blamed for it.  If I was just easier to live with, maybe things would have been ok.  See, that's where the rub is for me.  It just happened and I knew it was going to happen almost from the get go.  I was lulled by antidepressants six months after getting married.  I wonder now what would have happened if I had not gone to the doctor or that particular doctor.  Would the marriage have ended sooner?  Does it matter?  My ex-wife is devoutly religious.  Her family is devoutly religious.  I am not and could never pretend to be.  It became a point of contention and alienation between us all.  I was a sour puss because I would not go to visit the family for holidays or anytime.  It was just too artificial for me.  A waste of time.  I was not of the faith and therefore somehow inferior although every effort was made to appear otherwise.  It was a lie I could not pretend to believe.  I was living according to someone else's script.  I have a very hard time with that sort of thing.  Yes, I can be good, nice, and polite. I usually am.  I cannot, though, subscribe to a particular, narrow-minded belief system, though for my ex-wife and her family, it is a way of life.  They believe.  I don't.  Simple.  Outcome inevitable.  It's ok with me.  The kids are ok with it, too.  It's all good.  I don't like going to court for any reason, though.

Ok, let's go sideways here and I'll talk about my dog who ate rat poison and almost died.  Two Sundays ago I was inside all day working on my floors.  My Border Collie, Banjo, was outside.  Lately, he has been wandering off and I have had to chase him down from the orchard.  That Sunday I left him outside.  Monday, I took him to work.  He was listless.  When we came home, he would not get out of the car.  I had to grab his collar and drag him out.  He couldn't stand.  He flopped over like a fish on a dock.  His eyes looked at me.  This was not good.  I picked him up.  I was crying.  I brought him in the house and took him downstairs.  I put him down and he lay still.  He couldn't move.  I went to bed.  In the morning I let him out to go pee.  He was walking but slowly and unsteadily.  He peed dark brown urine.  It stunk.  He didn't eat.  I took him to work where he lay in one spot until time to go home.  He got up, shaky but walking.  The next two days I left him in the studio so if he had an accident, it would be easier to clean.  By Friday he was peeing blood and I had to take him to the vet.  The vet took a blood sample and the verdict was wafarin poisoning:  rat poison.  It thins the blood.  He was running a fever and his body organs were shutting down.  The vet shot him up with meds and said we would know by the next day if he was going to make it.  Make what?  You mean he might die?  Oh, fuck, what have I done?  I should have brought him in right away when he couldn't walk.  Since he walked the day after he collapsed, I figured he would be ok.  Now I was being told he might die.  Shit fuck hell.  I felt like a mean, horrible person.

He was complacent the next day and I gave him his meds as directed.  A week after ingesting the poison, he was still complacent but wagged his tail once.  I knew that was a good sign.  Today, he ate solid food.  He wagged his whole body.  He will be alright but I think recovery will be prolonged.  He is a very tired dog.  As bad as it has been for him, it has brought us closer.  I cradled him in my arms and pet him, telling him what a good boy he was and how sorry I was for neglecting him.  I'm sure, as a dog, he doesn't think there is anything to forgive.  I like that.

The time is now.  It will always be now.  I am in love.  Solid in love.  With a person who's inner beauty emanates from a center just above her belly button.  Her hair flows like a prairie breeze, brown and wavy.  Her heart is guarded but she has given it to me.  I have never been in this place before but I want to be here until my life is gone.  So, forces of the universe, may I keep this?  I want to be there when she needs me.  It would be lovely for her to be with me when I need her.  Wait!  I do need her!  Not when I need her but when we can?  This feeling of peace I get when thinking of her, will you please let it be?  It is a force, an energy, a life.  It is something to be grateful for.  I am grateful and humbled that she loves me.  That is all I will ever need.  Thank you.