Waiting Time

I've never been good at waiting. Well, I guess I should clarify that. I've never been good at waiting when the timetable is an unknown.

Sitting on a mountain top or beach, waiting for sunrise or sunset, I can sit contentedly for hours on end. I know what it is I'm waiting for and when it will occur. There is nothing to do but sit, relax, and wait.

But put me in a waiting area and all bets are off.

I'm not talking waiting rooms in doctor offices where I know an appointment will take place somewhere within eighty minutes of the scheduled time. I'm referring to waiting areas in airports, car repair facilities, and government offices.

When I have no idea how long it will take for my number to be called, for a car repair to be finished, or for a delayed plane to arrive, I lose my ability to sit patiently or to focus on a book.

I spent over eight hours in waiting areas this past week. I always had a book with me, but at the end of the week I had gained only forty pages. I read those same forty pages over and over again - never able to retain the plot from one reading to the next. Why? I suppose it was because I spent too much time worrying that the hands of the clock on the wall were actually moving backward whenever I wasn't focused on the clock.

What other explanation than reverse time could account for the numbness in my legs, the ache in my shoulders, and the kink in my neck? It could only be that what I took to be fifteen minutes of waiting had actually been two hours, the minute hand advancing only one minute for every eight it moved backward.

This week has left me convinced backward time is a real phenomena unique to waiting areas.