Hatred for waiting. Standing and tooling for something that is not known is to come.

When it shows, am I going to look it in the face and know that it has arrived?Greet it with a smile and say “Oh thank you for being so time, this is just what I thought that I needed?” Or am I going to stare it in the face and say “What are you, and who are you here for?”

Hatred for waitng. Wanting be the one that makes the decisions. Wanting to be the one who decides. To buy a phone card and a plane ticket. To make it clear and unconfused. To put in in a little black box of clarity. To write the rules. To make the call. Policies mine.

Instead, in the midst of cloud. Cloud nine, this time for real. Wonderful and lost. Irritated at all of the gloriousness of undiractionality. Wanting to scream “Call me Damn it! And this time bring up all of the serious things that are pending in the background!”

But backleading? Knowing better not to do that.

So instead there is hatred for the waiting. Hatred for the tooling and the wondering of what is to come. Hating that there is no appointment in Outlook saying “Fall in Love this week”

Hatred for the complusion to look in outlook for the feelings that are yet to come.

Easier for you I suppose? Less of a grip on your defined, controled life. Fine with flying by the seat of your pants, and figuring it out as it goes. Fine with not know what weekend to buy the trip, but knowing that there will be a trip one way or another.

Clarity. A distant memory.

Rules. Fleeting.

Closure. Hardly.

Back to waiting.

And when it comes, looking it in the face and saying “Im sorry, what is your name, and who are you here for?”