There are many things I am not any good at: can't paint, don't play an instrument, can't dance, and never expect me to know what direction I'm traveling in. Most of all, I do not know the meaning of patience.
Today I am awaiting two phone calls.
One will be from my doctor telling me the results of the MRI done on the lump on my arm yesterday. I really don't expect him to call until tomorrow. And if I read the looks on the faces of the technicians who helped me yesterday, I already think I know what the doctor will be saying. I just want him to finally do something to help ease this pain I've been living with.
The other call, which I do expect any minute now, will be either from my son or from the woman who has been his girlfriend for the past five years. If the call comes from Kate, then the judge did not find in my son's favor and he must complete his nine-month sentence (scroll down if you want the details on this). If it's from my son, he's out.....but will have to deal with the end of a five-year relationship with Kate and starting over again, who knows where.
So, I'm pacing. I can't seem to stay at my desk and edit my novel, or work on selecting poems for a submission with a deadline that's a couple of weeks away or work on posters I need to get done to sell our book at some readings we have scheduled for February. Can't knit because the pain in my arm is almost unbearable.....thankfully, I can type one-handed. All I can do is cuddle on the couch with Rupert and try to be patient, waiting for the phone to ring. Kind of feels like I'm back in high school, waiting for that boy to call. Damn. I thought those awful days were long over.