The waiting game has turned a new corner for me and like a roller coaster, I feel like my heart is in my throat and my stomach some 10 feet below me. I can't say I relish the feeling overly much. There is, in that agony of being suspended, almost a despondent, morose desire to just rush to the end, no matter how badly that end may be. Because nothing can be quite as bad as having to hang there, right before the impending drop.
Somewhere in my head, the two words "intervention prayer" dance around tantalizingly. If I pray hard enough, do you think the outcome will be favorable? I know it's not the way to go, and I know God is no Santa. Yet, this is where the logic loses its sway, to some degree.
Okay, I'm just babbling forth complete garbage. As Philip in Of Human Bondage would say, (crossly I may add), "Oh you do talk rot!" I do indeed sometimes.
This is because the outcome greatly matters to me, I must say. I readily confess that, even as I have no intention of disclosing what such outcome pertains to. Those who are close to me know what I am talking about, so that's all that really matters. I just want to sit here and wail about the difficulty the hardship oh the torture! But then again, I think I'm getting a bit nauseated by how cliched I sound.
They say that what does not kill you will make you stronger. Hmm...will this make me stronger? Tougher? Or just more wilted? More defeated? I guess only time will tell. But to be more scientifically accurate, seven days should be about right. To be honest, I know I will be okay either way. Sorry for all the theatrics earlier, folks, it comes and goes you see. I have an inner dialogue with myself pretty much all day. Okay fine, okay I will be okay. I just want to brace myself for the worst and hopefully, by sheer willpower, bully it away. HAHA. This is wishful thinking on steroids.
No comments:
Post a Comment