The silence of waiting.

I have noticed lately that my life is like that of a person who every morning awaits at the station for the bus to come. That person never sits a the station, he (for the sake of not mentioning he/she constantly I will just assume this person a he, but he could just as well be a she) is too fidgety and edgy to be sitting down. He constantly steps off the curb to see if the bus is visible from a distance. If the bus does not come on time, he will be late for work and would have to deal with that ass-whole of boss about why he was late again.

Everyday I get out in the front yard around 3:00pm to perform my ritual: watering the roses and other plants. Watering is my way of sticking out my head to see if the bus is coming or not. I bet my roses are the happiest plants in the block and probably consider themselves lucky to get that much water everyday. If they only knew the real reason why I water them so frequently and so abundantly, they would hate me. Everyday I wait for the mailman to bring me envelopes full of good news. Sometimes he is punctual, sometimes he is late. So far he has brought me three envelopes and all of them have come bearing good news. I am going to school again in August, I just don’t know where since so far there are three schools to choose from. But hey, I know this much: I am going to school again! Everyday I Wait for the mailman to come, until I know that all the envelopes have arrived.