Virtue Shmirtue

Anticipation.

The bane of my existence right now. Within the next 15 days we will have closed on our new house, (for the whole ugly molasses filled story of that calamity look at the older posts to the right) sweated out a year long separate (but equally nerve wracking) legal matter, waited to learn if a more lucrative job for one our daughters is in the cards, celebrated the 3rd birthday of 2 of our grandchildren and birthed one more. Lastly, we will have eagerly awaited the arrival of our new housemate who hopefully gave her seal of approval to the changes we’ve proposed to create a perfect luxurious new suite. WHEW.

I wake up and check the countdown clock on my phone. Nope, I haven’t slept through an extra day. DAMMIT! If I do sleep, I dream about what it will be like to not have pots and pans falling onto my head. To have enough space to use the inside of my oven as an oven – instead of a cookie sheet cabinet.

I fantasize about having an enormous extra wide Sharpie to check off what is surely the world’s longest to do list. People, I got lists for my lists – you know that I have only outlined the ass end of it here.

Waiting is irritating for me and sometimes thinking about the rainbow at the end isn’t enough to get a date with Mr. Sandman. If I were friends with Xanax, I would be ordering it in quantities that could only be measured by roadside weigh scales. There is only so much hand lotion one can apply between wringing cycles.

Boxes packed, numbered, organized, reorganized, alphabetized and color coded. Overnight bags ready, documents prepared, gifts purchased and wrapped, change of addresses ready to mail and trips made to Goodwill and Savers during multiple attempts to de-junk. Sometimes being ridiculously organized has a downside.

Patience: an annoying period of time in which the only choice you have sucks.

The ticking of that clock is like a Chinese gong.  Only louder.