Counting Days

"I don't do no waiting." I once told a friend. Waiting simply drives me up the wall, and then off the wall too. Back in my school days, I once broke my wrist watch by whipping it against the wall continuously because I got fuming mad waiting for dad to pick me up.

That's me. I hate waiting. To me, it's just excruciatingly painful doing nothing while watching the time slips by and anticipating that something to happen.

But sometimes, when there is waiting, there's hope. It is like waiting for the batter in the oven to rise up to its firm puffiness and release the aromatic fragrance into the kitchen. And of course, there is that sinfully tantalizing brownie making all the waiting such a rewarding experience. That waiting I can do.

I suppose something (or someone) is worth waiting for. That waiting, with that hope, hope of better, yearn for the reunion, is surely powerful. I no longer dread it. It makes me smile waking up in the morning. My heart dances in delight with each passing day, looking forward to the rendezvous.

Sometimes, waiting can be such a bliss