The Waiting Game

Today is one of those days where everything is just a little bit too much. Nothing is really wrong, and yet everything is. I am tired and lethargic, and when I tried to read my paper at the Starbucks (I don't have air conditioning; they do), I first couldn't concentrate because of the loud conversation next to me, and when I moved, the woman next to me seemed to be rattling the sleeve with her pastry unbelievably loudly for, like, ever. Then she decided to spray herself with sunscreen. And so on.

If I recall correctly, being irritated at the slightest provocation – and being alternately on the verge of tears and so uncomfortable in my own skin I'd like to rip it off, and sometimes all of these at once -- is a fairly standard feature of detoxing off binges, and usually happens somewhere between days four and seven, though I guess it's arrived early (today's day three). It's also when I can't decide what I need or what I want – when I think of a million things I could or should be doing, and then tell myself I need to keep it simple. And then when I do, feel resentful that I am just getting through the day instead of embracing it. (I also find myself feeling slightly guilty, thanks to the number of moms in my circle these days. Presumably if I ever have a child – not looking likely, because I don't think I want one badly enough to go on the forced march of meeting someone and hurrying it all along to get one -- I will both look back longingly at these days when I did just about nothing and rue that I didn't live it up while I could have.)

It doesn't help that I feel like I'm waiting, waiting, waiting – not something at which I ever have excelled at doing patiently. Nor am I good at giving my full attention to anything else while doing so. And I am waiting for the New York Times to run not one but two stories (both of which were turned in ages ago – makes me fear what's wrong with them), waiting to hear from editor on miserable story I turned in yesterday (is this the point where an editor will say, as I have been expecting all year, "You have failed upward until this point, and here's where it stops"), waiting to hear about a series of pitches. I am waiting to feel and look like myself again, and waiting to hear from a couple of people about plans that were not quite jelled enough to be prompting a "are we still on?" (basically, they're in the stage that is the online shopping equivalent of having it in your cart but not proceeding to payment.) And of course, as always, I am waiting for the next time I get to eat.