“Good things come to those who wait.” Oh, really? When??? If that platitude is true, then there are some seriously awesome good things headed my way because I have been waiting. And waiting. And waiting a lot, A LOT, more.
I am impatient. I hate to wait for anything, even the bus. So waiting for Himself (aka, the one who I hope is The One) to slog through the crap that is his life right now and come out clean on the other side is torture. Chinese water torture mixed with staring at a table full of delectable cakes that I'm not allowed to eat torture. It's awful.
Himself swept me off my feet six months ago. We live 500 miles apart and he said we would see each other at least once a month. We have seen each other exactly never. He says that he loves me and that he misses me and I believe him. Most of the time.
This has been (with the huge exception of meeting me, natch) the very worst year of his life. We’re not talking piddly, irritating stuff here – this is nasty, lousy, I-so-totally-didn’t-see-this-coming shit. I have stood patiently (well, quietly) by, waiting for him to make bricks out of the crap and stack them into some semblance of a sturdy structure so there is room in his head for something (read: ME) besides the caca. He is trying where I am concerned: he calls, he writes, he IMs on a regular basis, but this is a time when maddeningly complicated circumstances keep us from spending time in the same space.
He is starting to make bricks, which is a very good thing. It’s going to take a while before his structure is solid, though, and that’s where my trouble is. Now that his life is starting to settle down, I want the house built NOW. That’s not going to happen. I’m not good at waiting, have I mentioned that?
But I wait. And I will continue to wait, sometimes patiently, sometimes whining like a 4-year-old to Mary Alice. Because Himself just might be the man I have always been waiting for. Something deep in me recognized him, like he’s been on my calendar for a long, long time. He is everything I appreciate, respect, and drool over in a man. If waiting might make him mine, I will wait.
Some might call me a fool and I’m fine with that. Just don’t start calling me St. Violet the Patient anytime soon.