j'attends

I think about 87% of the day goes into waiting. (I also think about 46% of all statistics are made up on the spot.) Life is scheduled, rendered static by the multitude of deadlines, due dates, red flags we impose on ourselves. And still, despite knowing what is next, I find myself constantly suspended somewhere between the past and future, without having realized the present. We just sway back and forth, rapidly tapping our watches in anticipation.

I wait for the bus, for Port Authority, for the E train. I wait for the right word to come to me as I write an email. I wait for the response. I wait for the right time to relay bad news to a constituent, for the right time to finally throw my hands in the air and give up. I wait for Friday. I wait for 5:00, for 6:00. And then I wait for the E train, for Port Authority, for the bus.

And during all this waiting, nothing gets done. The goals to refashion my body, to refine my French, to apply for whatever is next in my life seem to slip from my fingers as I can only focus on the idea of some distant future, not the actual process of attaining it, of making it a present reality. As I wait to fall asleep, I tell myself tomorrow will be a new day, the day I start writing a screenplay, swimming 5 AM laps, reading the books on my ever-growing list. And then tomorrow becomes today, and today we just sit waiting for tomorrow.

Some of us are waiting for Godot. But the rest of us are just waiting, not even sure for what, or for whom, we wait. Such is life. We're at a standstill, breathless.

telephone

The last time I played telephone was in the first grade. We played during a fire drill in order to pass time. After the initial shock of "chicken nuggets" becoming "Rick and Meg's cats," we slowly grasped the way to overcome the mispronunciation--speak loudly, listen clearly.

I never would have thought that this elementary game would manifest itself in my actual life. Last week, as my family took its usual seats around the kitchen and family room--my father standing above some dark chocolate scattered on a TIME magazine, my sister lying on the couch with her laptop propped on her knees, my mother standing by the stove in frantic disarray, and I sitting at the counter with some cheese--we engaged ourselves in some real-world telephone.

Manu: Guys, you don't have to come to my dance if you want to pick up Dinaben and Nanaji from the airport.

Rucha: Yea, no big deal, I can drop her off at Mexicali Blues. And I'll get wasted while I'm there. Where is it? Is it on Cedar Lane?

Abhay: What about Mexico? Aw, guys, I am so sorry, I didn't know you wanted to go to Mexico for Christmas. Okay, fine, no problem, let me start planning it now.

Parul: Katariiiinaaaaa.

Manu: Who wants to go to Mexico?

Rucha: Isn't Katarina a Russian name?

Abhay: [launches into history of the name, "Katarina"]

Parul: Who cares? I was just saying we should watch "Dancing with the Stars!"

Manu: Oooh okay! But watch my dance first I need to practice for Sunday.

Abhay: Speaking of which, we might not be able to go because we have to pick up Dinaben and Nanaji from the airport. Will that be a problem?

~~~