Waiting

*This Post is a Rambling Personal Chat*

 

I feel like I could write a book, or at least few essays, on waiting at this point.

The list of things I’m waiting on seems to get longer by the day. Whether it be with writing (hearing back from agents, trying to figure out how to get my self-published works out there more, etc), teaching (waiting for interviews, to hear back from interviews, just trying to get a job!), things on the more personal front, or even results from exercising, I feel like I spend the vast majority of my time waiting. The worst part is that all this waiting is making me more anxious, stressed, and depressed than I usually am.

Talking to friends and family about it isn’t really much of an option either at the moment. We’ve had a discussion or two and they’ve moved on to their own things. I see no reason to burden them with my ever growing list of anxiety inducing ‘wait for its.’ But that then leaves the burning question: How does one gracefully ‘wait for it?’

I know that God will put me on the path I am meant to be on. I know that I just have to have the faith and fortitude to keep going and working toward my goals. But I always find myself praying that my loved ones are ok, that they get through what they’ve been waiting for, and then I later realize that I’m still holding on to mine. It’s all very muddled and achy and my usual coping mechanisms or writing, reading, and Netflix or Hulu haven’t been helping lately. I’m tired of being tired. I’m sick of feeling sick. I’m so fed up with not caring about what goes on around me.

With all that having been said (whined *sigh*) the question is this: How do you deal with waiting? Do you have any special rituals, techniques, or other things that help you when you’re having to stress and wait? Would you mind sharing them with me?

I hope that you are all having a fabulous week! See you soon!

 

 

From Scratch

She stood staring at the recipe before her. The lines scribbled out and notes decorating the edges of the small square made it clear that this was a work in progress, made of trial and errors. So, with her elbows covered in flour and her fingers coated in oils, she worked. Kneading the dough, punching it down, and finally being able to roll and cut the pieces. Carefully setting up the cooking sheets and waiting on pins and needles, picking at cuticles and biting fingernails until time to take out the pan and have a taste. Only to be disappointed once more. After six long years of trying, the flavor still wasn’t quite right. Throw this batch out to the dogs.

“Ellie,” Sky risked life and limb to stick his head in to the kitchen and try to talk reason, “Come on El, if you haven’t gotten it by now…”

The glare she sent his way would have turned most men to stone. The baked good she through at his head, however, was fluffy and soft as a cloud that was raining droplets of butter. “Look, you’ve done so much in the last few years. You own and manage the hottest bakery in the tri-county area, you published a cook book with all original recipes, and you are making bank off of it all. Just use the canned stuff if you won’t feed us these delightful bits of batter.”

“Canned stuff? I can’t believe you just said that to me,” Ellie raged, turning on him and snatching the bread from his hand. “Don’t you remember that night? The dripping blood, the screams? I swore after the Great Crescent Tragedy of ’08 that I would NEVER use canned again!” Ending on a shouted sob, the chef turned back to the scattered remains of her ingredients and resolutely began dumping a new batch into her bowl, muttering to herself the entire time.

Shaking his head, Sky ducked out and turned to the other three friends gathered around Ellie’s dining room table. “Sorry guys, no rolls tonight either.”