The Waiting is the Hardest Part

I'm hearing Tom Petty's voice in my head.

I've never been patient. I know it's a virtue, but it's one I've always lacked. I think it's part of my control freak nature. I hate sitting when I could be doing...at least when it comes to things that are important to me. I have no problem sitting when it's a distasteful chore that needs doing. Right now though, I'm waiting.

I'm waiting for Tom Petty's song to download on my iPhone. Yes, it was in my head and I needed to do something, so I bought it. Ironically now, I'm waiting. At least with a download, you can follow the progress on the blue line, although it's kind of like that proverbial watched pot.

I'm waiting for the weekend. Pam, my bff serving in Iraq, will be home for two weeks starting this weekend. I've been waiting to see her for seven months. We're backlogged on long conversations. I did a blog a while back on how rare it is to have someone you trust enough to give them a piece of your inner self. Pam is one of those rare and wonderful people I trust implicitly. She's going to be pulled in a hundred directions, but I'm looking forward to at least one night on her deck or mine in which we talk until dawn. She's been in a dry country for seven months, so it should be entertaining. Just writing about it makes me crazy with impatience.

(Still waiting on the download. I have really poor signal strength in my writing corner.)

I'm waiting for feedback from several critical readers on my manuscript. I rewrote the first three chapters. I have two new readers looking at the entire book and one who is just looking at the rewrite. I just handed them over in the last day, and they are wonderful and will be timely, but me and waiting... I'm not querying again until I get feedback on the rewrite. Those first ten pages have to pop. I've discovered there is an inordinate amount of waiting in the publishing game.

(6.4 of 7.7MB downloaded...urgh!)

I'm waiting on someone to tell me what they want for dinner. I don't mind cooking, but I hate deciding what to make. Invariably, someone (read teenaged boy) looks at my choice and says, "I don't feel like _______ (fill in the blank)." I think they're getting spaghetti tonight whether they want it or not.

iTunes asked me for my password again...it's taking that long. Oh wait....we have ignition!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you get one more yard.
You take it on faith. You take it to the heart.
The waiting is the hardest part