What I’m Waiting For

I was sent off to Utah for 2 months, and I was furious. But I calmed down, as I do, and I got used to the idea that it was really just like an excruciatingly long workweek. With one day weekends every 11 days.

For a while, I tried to have a life here. I tried to make the best of the pitiful hotel gym facilities and to be interested in going out to dinner with these strangers that have become my co-castaways. But finally, there was no denying it. The gym is just unworkable and my fellow victims here in exile are not my friends, no matter how much I try. And it’s a shame, really, because they’re not my kind of people and they don’t seem to like one another very much, either.

So I found myself playing my video game, setting goals and being excited for the next milestone. And I knew the whole time that I was really just escaping. Just biding my time till I was permitted to return home.

Isn’t that funny? I’m an adult, but I have to ask for permission to go home.

But I’ve reached my in-game goal and I’m stymied on what to do with myself. I’m waiting to go home, to run a house and work in a yard. To have a dog stand with her nose less than an inch from mine as I intone her name in a sacred chant of praise.