Tag Archives: patience

Timing is Everything

This will come as a surprise to no one, but I always have to be early or at least on time.

dont-be-late

Yes, I’m obsessed with Natalie Dee lately.

This is often to my detriment, as 98 percent of the population is apparently not this way, which means is I end up hurrying to wait. This in turn causes extreme frustration, occasional cursing and the creation of several voodoo dolls. Yet I still insist on being on time for things.

Why?

Because, well,  OCD and schedules, but more importantly, because it’s simply respectful.

On a professional note, I’ll just say that deadlines are not suggestions people. You are not a special snowflake. That sense of entitlement and lack of respect is rude and frustrating.

In my personal life, I feel the same way. If you tell me to be ready at 6, please be there at 6. While I understand things happen, making me wait 30 minutes or more is grounds for violent behavior. By the time you show up, I will be too bitter and annoyed that you couldn’t get your shit together to be fun.

That will be your fault.

This is also why I always prefer to be the picker-upper and not get picked up. At least I can sit in your driveway and honk the horn like the crazy person you have forced me to be.

This annoyance is most prevalent in appointments—doctors, dentists, hairstylists, etc. Again, I understand things happen, but there is no good reason for them to happen every single time.

But I think dentists and doctors have figured out we’re annoyed with this and have devised their own plan.

The time spent in the waiting area has been cut down significantly, and at first I was excited to be called back to my own little room rather quickly. However, this was before I realized I was put there so when I freaked out over waiting 45 minutes it would be in the privacy of an exam room and not the public waiting area.

Side note: Please don’t tell me to read a magazine, as those things are like public petri publications full of germs and nastiness. You might as well lick a toilet seat. 

But I’ve devised my own revenge.

I fill the time looking for fun little things I can take as a memory of my excursion. This obviously can’t be done somewhere like a hair salon where going through the drawers and taking bobby pins and shower caps would be frowned upon.

But if you’re stuck in an exam room for more than 40 minutes, you can legally take things like Band-Aids with cool cartoons characters, cotton balls and stickers given to good little patients.*

*I read that on the Internet—right after I wrote it—so it must be true.

Inevitably the same nurse who has avoided me for 40 minutes will walk in the one second I’m looking for a tongue depressor I can make into a little stick man, but whatever. At that point I no longer feel like talking about whatever I went there to talk to them about anyway, even if my head is about to fall off, so why not at least walk out with an art project?

I know, I know. Patience, not petty theft, but if everyone would just stick to a schedule—preferably mine—I wouldn’t be faced with this problem.

Remember that at the end of the day, it’s about respect.

So if you insist in being late on multiple occasions, there’s  a good chance I will either sit in your driveway and blast the horn or steal your cotton balls.

That will be your fault.

Timing is everything.

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This post is a bit of a downer, but I just needed to write this last night. My blog, my blurb 🙂

Sometimes I think I’m selfish.

Not in the, “I think only of me” sense at all, but still selfish nonetheless.

I have basically constructed my own little world, in that for the most part I do what I want and am really not accountable to anyone else. Yes, there are family and friends, but there are no children I am responsible for, no husband to check-in with if I’m running late. Yes, I have a boss and responsibilities, but I’m basically working to support myself and my necessities.

This means that at times I don’t have to pretend to be anything other than what I’m feeling. If I’m cranky, I don’t have to pretend smile and be civil when I come home from work. If I’m tired, I can sleep. If I want to do a yoga tape, I don’t have to wait for the TV. In essence, I kind of revolve my world around myself. Even though I give what I can to those I care for, the only one I really have to worry about making happy is me.

I don’t hide my emotions well, and to be honest, I think I would find it exhausting to try and live my life that way. But there are times I am humbled, when I push any mood or “disordered” thinking out of my head and simply smile, laugh and talk. While I may not be that way all the time, I can play that role when necessary.

It’s been very necessary lately with my grandma.

While details aren’t needed, let’s just say the relationship between her, my mom and me is about as tight as three generations can go. That’s a good thing and a bad thing, as my mom deals with grandma craziness and I deal with a double dose from both of them. However, I can play that role when necessary.

Gram is 86 and I’ve pretty much prepared myself for her death the past few years, actually since my grandpa passed away eight years ago. They had done everything they ever wanted to do—created a business, a huge family, a life together for more than 60 years—and were so completely at peace (you wouldn’t know it by how they argued, but it was all part of the deal.)

So as bad as it sounds, when she goes I’ll be fine. Even though I have an odd perspective on death in general (as in, it doesn’t really bother me), things have been getting so bad that it will actually be a relief when it happens. But these past couple months it seems it’s getting closer—she has pretty much given up even trying. She can’t walk, she’s incontinent and no longer makes an effort, she’s stopped eating and she’s just…vacant. It’s like she’s already gone.

But it finally hit my mom last night. (Background—she’s an extremely emotional person. I am the complete opposite, ironically.) I was making a dessert at my mom’s when she came back from the home; she goes every day. Something last night hit her hard and she lost it. I can’t say much, as she doesn’t really understand my “I’m at peace with things” attitude at times like these, but sometimes you don’t have to say anything at all. By the time I cleaned up she was fine. We have this silent understanding when it comes to emotions.

I had plans of an evening walk or yoga tape — of course I need my exercise — but instead I ran over to the home and watched some of the game with gram (we get our love of baseball from her.) I smiled. I talked a little about my day. She listened and continued to fiddle with her hands a bit as she’s taken to doing lately. Something washed over me and so I brushed her hair, now so brittle and thin, for half an hour. I massaged her arms and swollen legs as best as I could with her sitting in her chair. I knew she didn’t care how her hair looked, if I was clumsy in my efforts at massage, if I got my walk in that day.

All she knew was she loved how it felt.

Her eyes were closed and for once, I didn’t try and fill the silence. With the game in the background, I didn’t make my normal conversation. I just let her be quiet. I just let me be quiet. I watched her enjoy this simple pleasure, as minor as it was, and for that hour I put away any “to-do’s” I had planned for the night. I didn’t care how I hair looked, if I was clumsy in my efforts at massage, if I got my walk in that day.

All she knew was she loved how it felt.

They came to get her for her bath, but before I left I took her face in my hands and kissed her, telling her I love her like I always do. As she always does, she replied back that she loves me more. We go back and forth with our argument until one of us gives in (or I leave and shut the door yelling “More!”)

This time her voice was a little weaker, and mine might have been, too. Yes, I have basically constructed my own little world, but she’s been a huge part of it for 28 years. If she’s ready,  I can play that role when necessary.