Waiting...

I hate waiting. Not in a typical "I'm so impatient" way. I'm not the person who quietly sighs when standing in the checkout line at the grocery store for a little too long. I'm not that subtle. And I'm not the nice old lady who gets a slightly aggitated after holding for 32 minutes just to speak to a rep at the cell phone company. No. I am a monstrousity. I am the enemy of all things slow...or moderate...or hesitant.

I cannot stand the annoying sound of the icons fighting to settle into their places on my desktop...or the visual retardation of a website loading. I hate when the intersection light lingers on red for too long. (What are the extra 15 seconds for? Get on with it already). I grate my teeth when a pedestrian takes too long to cross the street. I contemplate the consequences of homicide when a waiter pours water at a wretched slow pace during my conversation.

And there are more examples. So many more examples...like job interviews. I cannot stand arriving for an interview 15 minutes early and then being forced to wait 40 minutes for the interviewer to wobble his fat ass out of his office and greet me with a fake yellow, moldy smile. Then that same interviewer pretends to be in love with me and promises to call the next day when he, in reality, plans to torture me for two months. I don't like when cashiers take too long to count my change. I don't like Christmas Eve. Because I'm reminded that Christmas is still 24 hours away. I don't like birthday parties in December because I have to wait eight more months to have all of the attention on me. And if you think I'm lying-that I can't possibly be that crazy...you're wrong. You couldn't be more wrong.

But none of the previously mentioned madness compares to the undeniable hatred that I have for the dating/courting process. (My skin is crawling). There is nothing, in this world, that I hate more than wondering...waiting...fiending...hoping...needing...wishing that the person I want would just end the torment and loudly/boldly want me back. I have never experienced torture like the torture that accompanies wanting someone who hasn't admitted to feeling the same way. I mean, shoot me already. It's difficult to explain because the waiting isn't a "middle school crush" kinda thing. It's not like waiting on a phone call after someone asks for your number. It's unimaginable. It's obsessive. There's no appetite, no sunlight, no social life, no hobbies, no phone calls, no texting...no nothing. But waiting. Wondering.

And yes, its unhealthy. But how healthy is love...really? There's the initial bliss-sure. There's the first random accidental date (that no one calls a date) or the kiss that no one planned or the sleepover that only happened because the sun "snuck up" on you both and time "flew by." But eventually, there are just two people who don't know what the hell to do next. It's inevitable. And the trick is...the goal is...to make sure that the other person has no idea how much you think about him/her. Everything is strategic. Everything is calculated. Even if you work double time to appear nonchalant. Inside, you're crumbling with anticipation.

I cannot stand it. I'd rather stand on ice while wearing a bikini...in the forest...at night. I swear. Because, the truth is, being impatient has never bothered me until now. I've never cared about my inability to wait. Everyone else seems more burdened about my disorder than I am. I wouldn't even know I had a patience disorder if it weren't for the thousands of people reminding me every day. But, when it comes to issues of the heart, I know that patience is mandatory. I know that, if I don't change, I will spend the rest of my life with whatever is most convenient and accessible. I know that I will always settle for whoever gives me what I ask for, when I ask for it.

And, deep down, I want more from this life. I want to know what might be on the other side of the whole patience foolishness. I know one thing. Waiting will either kill me...or make me stronger. Hopefully, I'll find out that the outcome is the latter.