I have spent hours and hours, days, and months waiting for a variety of events good and bad throughout my life.  There is telephone waiting, with or without Muzak piped into the wait, and cryptic messages for distracting the person who is waiting.  Those are the “La di da, press 1, press 2, 3 etcetera.  I hate these because I can see all the things that I could be doing rather than waiting.  There is always a sink full of dishes or something burning on the stove.  It is a baby screaming in the background, a lawn service revving up a gas lawn edger, children fighting in the playroom and throwing wood blocks at each other, and biting and scratching as well.  The dog needs to be let out.

Another wait is for contractions to get serious enough to dilate you so you can holler for medication. The wait begins around the due date of the baby, and if overdue, it is a trial of mind over matter. Sulking and crying was my forte for this wait.

I have waited almost half of our marriage for my husband to come home to eat dinner, pick up diapers, sing “Happy Birthday”, or go to bed.  I have put decorative candles in the vaulted ceiling windows to welcome him home, and have crawled back up there to snuff the candles out as I went to bed.

I have waited to have new tires put on my car.  This is boring, as well.  I can only find posters about windshield wipers, different grades of oil, and of course tires to read over and over again.

The wait for cable guys add up to at least a year or two.

Waiting in doctors’ offices that are overheated and viral with young children is torture.

I have waited for the results of medical tests.  It takes hours and hours and days and days and weeks and weeks.

I wait for spring to arrive every year.  This starts in early February and spring arrives in April.

So my life has a grand total of waiting time to be at least one half of my waking hours.  I sleep for six to eight hours and that probably could be brought down to five hours.  It’s just that as I get older I resent wasting the time I have on the planet listening to Muzak on the telephone.  I should be patient.  All of us have to wait for something.

Waiting for a manuscript to be accepted or rejected as a freelance writer is a hurry up and wait situation.  If you find out too soon, it is a no go unless you are the world’s greatest writer of all time and the publishing of your material is imperative immediately.  This happens only once in a writer’s life.  The rest of the wait time is for the rejection notice.  It is short and to the point.  This means you have to redo the whole mailing procedure and find another publisher who could possibly be interested in your work.  I am talking about “Fly-fishing in America, Exercise and Diet magazines, and House Beautiful book articles about watching paint dry.”

I think I like “How to Stop the neighbor’s Dog From Barking” articles.  I might try sending something along those lines and see how I hold up to the wait time on such things.  It might be fun!