Restless

I hate waiting.

There are very few things I can say I actually hate. Dislike, yes. But not hate.

But waiting is a whole form of torture all by itself. Just the thought of those seeming-insignificant seconds ticking away, your life slipping out of your grasp with each passing moment, the niggling thought that you should be doing something instead of sit around helplessly, sends pins and needles down my whole body. Jabbing, proding, provoking.

The most surefire way to get under my skin is to waste my time and me me WAIT. I feel like I’m at the mercy of the person(s)/thing(s) making me wait, like my life has to be put on hold and hinge precariously on knife-point until the wait is over.

Doesn’t matter if it’s family (though I seldom have a problem with that, seeing as how everyone in my family’s pretty efficient), friends, cashiers who take their (and hence mine) time, potential employers who say they’ll be in touch after an interview, or even the bus, the train, or traffic lights, for goodness’ sake! Those minutes add up to a lifetime! Just the wait itself makes me antsy, and unable to focus on anything else but the fact that I AM STILL WAITING.

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