I am waiting for the school year to begin. It begins in fits and starts. I have already begun to teach at the college. On Monday the daughter begins at preschool. Several days later, the sons begin their school year. The week following, I begin teaching at the public schools Adult Basic Ed program.
I am waiting to receive the updated copy of my first not-too-trashy (let's call it semi-steamy) romance novel in the mail. Then I can wait for the final edits to be done. Then I can wait to hear back from the potential publisher. (I am told that this waiting can take up to three months.)
I am waiting to heal completely from my semi-elective surgery*. I am waiting to get my act together and call to make a bunch of appointments. I am waiting for it to be Friday. On the general principal of Fridayness.
So far I have written 41,000 words on the sequel to the first romance novel. More than halfway done, probably. That isn't so much of a waiting as a doing. I am enjoying the doing.
I am waiting for it to be time to sleep. Waiting to hear back from the NAMI people on the final stage of training to be a guest speaker. Then waiting to train. Then waiting to have my first speaking engagement.
I do not feel like I am waiting for an anvil to fall on my head. Which is a good feeling. Or the absence of a bad feeling.
I am EXHAUSTED. Slept from sleep time until get-up time last night. The sleep of the dead. The sleep of logs. The sleep of the righteous. The sleep of righteously dead logs. The sleep of deadly righteous logs. The sleep of loggy dead righteousness.
Beginnings of some things and the ends of some other things. And vice versa.
slept at night
*acquisition of a less copious bosom
Quaker, teacher, parent,