Waiting...since I can't think of anything better right now

Are you sitting half dressed in your recently abandoned room, with a one eyed, not just dog, but pug?

Are you waiting to go some where?

Waiting to realize something, like Zing! and the answer appears, and you are delivered, the demons have been exorcised?

Waiting for someone to tell you what to do/say/wear/eat, hello Jesus I’m talking to you, p.s. I read your book, it sucks?

Waiting to go eat sushi with friends when you know you really need to be alone, even though you don’t want to be alone because you can’t shake the feeling of waiting?

Waiting for those compulsions to pass? No I don’t want a cigarette. No I don’t need a drink. I am aware these things do not solve problems. Or do they?

Are you waiting for that part Dayvan Cowboy for change your life again for the first time?

Are you waiting?
It’s not just the feeling of waiting for something you can’t define, just cannot put your finger on, something that exists only in another universe or dimension, or in a fabled garden, guarded by twirling swords. It’s the feeling of immobility, inability. Every opportunity exists, so no opportunity exists.
Meh… I suppose it’s all just a matter of perspective. And at this particular juncture in the space time continuum, the part of Negator will be played by Candice. Please turn off your cell phones and keep your kids quiet or so help me god I will smash them in their aurally chafing mouths. Fuck! I hate kids.
No but seriously.
I really don’t like kids at all; they aren’t even as cute as puppies. Fuck em. I’m having my tubes tied.
You’re welcome world.
I guess I just want what all waiters want; a good tip. Except I’m not that kind of waiter, besides if I was a culinary transport specialist, I would be dubbed either ‘waitress’ as I have tits and a vajayjay, or the more PC, non-gender-defining, but still inherently and obviously demeaning ‘server’.
“Here are your pancakes…I AIN’T YO BITCH!....sir….”
Again, seriously…
I guess I just want either an answer or an escape. A bottle of vodka or enlightenment. A cigarette or the Rosetta Stone. A roll or the key to the Saturday New York Times crossword puzzle…on Friday.
But it seems like I’m getting the answers in the Sunday paper, Sarah smoked the last cigarette, the liquor store is closed (*remember, it’s Sunday, and this is Texas), and the Buddha wrapped up all the enlightenment in his meditation mat and b-lined it out of this dimly lit shit hole and straight into Nirvana.
And the Oscar for most stellar performance in accurate portrayal of fictitious character created by girl whose blog no one reads, goes to…….Candice for her role as Negator!
Clapping, cheering, laughter, one rotten banana thrown, more clapping, all around general conviviality and satisfaction with the decision except from that one guy with the banana who’s being escorted out as we speak, don’t worry he’s being taken care of, I know a guy.
p.s. I also won a Pulitzer Prize for best ever usage, placement, construction, and clever delivery of run on sentences. It is on my mantle. Wearing a rhinestone tiara. Don’t ask.