“All rooms are waiting rooms,” you’re saying.
And I suppose that to be true. (I believe everything you say.)
We’re sitting beside each other in a beige room at the doctor’s office.
The stale air smells of broken wax crayons and reader’s digest magazines.
“… and if the world is a hospital,
then every hobby and sport are just elaborate forms of waiting,” you continue.
“Ok, but if we’re all just fancy-waiting, then what exactly are we waiting for?”
The receptionist calls your name, and a wave of excitement comes over me
because we will get to interact with her.
Have you ever met a receptionist or a secretary that really doesn’t care?
I don’t mean that’s she’s rude or abrupt,
I mean she doesn’t care at all about you,
or the people for whom she secretarys.
It’s an incredible thing to see.
Inspirational really, in its honesty.
On the topic of honesty:
I’m sorry I said secretarys as a verb a couple lines back.
Self-Isolation – Day 19: Crickets made of pipe-cleaner