“Nature is by and large to be found out of doors, a location where, it cannot be argued, there are never enough comfortable chairs.”
~ Fran Lebowitz
I sit and wait for that phone call that tells me you are okay and your surgery went well. That you will be around to meet your grandchildren. I’m grateful for the soft seat, so that I don’t fall to the hard floor in relief.
I sit listening to the stories of your day, the nameless people, the clandestine events, never knowing completely what you speak of, but intent on paying attention. Wanting to show you that it matters to me, that you matter to me, even if I don’t understand what you are telling me.
I sit in an uncomfortable chair, sharing with him personal information about you. Turning to you to apologize again, telling you how uncomfortable I am speaking about you like you aren’t in the room too, wishing you would share this information in your own words.
I sit captivated by your voice, smiling at the excitement I hear as you tell me about your classes, your friends, your life, marveling at the person you have become.
I sit at my computer checking off little boxes, claiming every two weeks that I am available to work, that I have sought work, that I haven’t turned down work, and I still – after 15 months – haven’t earned a salary.
I sit, propped up against a mountain of pillows, beneath a warm blanket, on a soft mattress, watching stories of parents killing their children, courts ruling against a mother teaching her child her beliefs, tales of celebrity self-destruction, world governments annihilating their own people, and wondering when did we lose our collective minds.
I sit on fine, white sand waiting patiently for the end of the day, camera in hand, hoping to capture the last moments of the sun sinking below the water line. Listening intently as the night comes alive.
I sit reading and re-reading your latest letters. Wondering how we came to this point, wondering where you anger came from, and grateful that you seem to have faced it and conquered it. Hopeful that we can start over, creating a loving bond that we should have wrought as children.
I sit typing, scanning, laughing, frowning… engrossed in a make-believe world. Finally looking up from the screen to discover half my day gone and nothing to show for it, knowing I lack the motivation to break out of the routine tomorrow.
11 thoughts on “Sitting, waiting, watching”
Amazing, how much we process while we’re sitting. Hope you got your answers, and your peace.