When I'm expecting visitors to my home, I fidget. The last hour before they're supposed to arrive I spend tidying up things that are already tidy, and doing piddly things like lighting incense and putting just the right music on the stereo. I try to settle down and read a book or work a crossword puzzle, or occupy myself writing, but I tend to wander from room to room as the minutes tick by, not sure what to do with myself.
God help me if they're late. Then I sit and stare at the clock and keep shifting positions in the chair: legs to the left, legs to the right, legs crossed, curled up in a ball, knees bent, feet on the coffee table...argh! I finish one crossword and start another, or end up reading the same lines of a book over and over.
That anticipatory restlessness essentially describes how my entire life has felt lately. I know something is about to arrive, and I am tired of waiting. The question has evolved from "what the hell is going on with my life?" to "what can I do to get this thing moving?" I don't believe in sitting back and letting life happen, even though that's basically what I've done since moving out of my parents' house at 18. I keep thinking that the universe is waiting for me to do something, or that we're waiting for each other--that the catalyst is my doing and the rest will follow.
Unfortunately I have no idea what that catalyst is, and hints are not something the gods seem all that interested in providing.
It's like when you feel a sneeze building, and building, and you're really looking forward to a good sneeze, but...no. No sneeze. Not yet. Just an itchy nose.
Actually a better description would be four hours of sex with no orgasm. Almost, almost, almost...damn it. Someone's fingers get tired or your batteries wear out or the bed collapses or the police arrive, and you end up screaming with frustration rather than abandon. I'm at the place about five minutes before that happens.
Eight centimeters dilated. Bottom of the ninth with bases loaded and the pitcher gets a cramp. Midway through the seventh Harry Potter book--how much longer is this damn story going to go on? Stuck right between the inhalation and the exhalation.
I don't know what I'm expecting, and I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing, and it's maddening. August, the signs seem to say. August is when things start to change, for real this time. Late summer. Am I sure? No. I have lost the ability to be sure of anything. But I have, as I've said, hope--hope in God, and hope in my own intuition.
Nevertheless I am very bad at waiting. You should see me in line at the DMV sometime.
It occurs to me that I should perhaps be concerned whether the Oncoming Storm is a good thing, a bad thing, or a Time Lord (gods, the BBC has eaten my soul). At this point, however, I have decided to simply have faith, or perhaps extremely vehement hope, that the universe has something in store for me that will floor me with its pure awesomeness, or at least be the kind of pain that I know will count for something in the end, like a tattoo.
In the meantime, here are ten things I love which are helping keep me sane in this liminal, fox-like, cosmically anorgasmic time:
1 ~ Alanis Morissette's new CD Flavors of Entanglement.
2 ~ The fact that I can now get a decaf soy milk mocha Frappuccino.
4 ~ Joshua Bell's Romance of the Violin.
5 ~ Fresh cherries and raspberries.
6 ~ My slick-as-hell new Apple keyboard here at work.
7 ~ As alluded to above, I've become quite the fangirl of the Doctor Who universe (Ninth and Tenth Doctor, and let's not forget Torchwood, YUM). Thank the gods for Netflix, which really should qualify as #8, but I want to leave room for:
8 ~ Feeling inspired to write, even if it's not a book (or a spirituality blog, for that matter)--I haven't enjoyed writing fiction the way I am right now in years. No pressure, no deadlines, just me having a good time with my weirdo plotlines and my pornographic interludes, and having people email desperately wanting more. Good for both the muse and the ego.
9 ~ My artwork adorns several people's bodies, most recently the aforementioned Oldest Friend who came to visit; she asked me to design her first tattoo, and it turned out lovely, both visually and symbolically. It was a simple sort of thing but I was really pretty proud of it, another sign of progress on my part, as most of my life I've been unable to look at anything I create without ripping it apart with self-criticism.