I am waiting to be normal again, a waiting that turns me inside out and ties me in knots because I know it won’t happen, no matter how much I wish for it. It’s been 11 years now and I still can’t stop waiting, stop thinking that one day I’ll get back to ‘normal’ and do all the things I used to do, with the same high energy level.
I was waiting for spring to come but in the last week it has really sprung here in our cooler microclimate. Now I am waiting for the garden weeds to go away, magically, like if I just look at them they’ll disappear in a puff of smoke.
I am waiting to rearrange the garden into something easier to manage. We’ve started down that road, but it will be a busy few weeks.
I am waiting for June, especially my book launch in the middle of the month. My writing friends are flying in, coming during a bad time for cross-border travel with the US, to celebrate with my husband and me. I am waiting for a hugely fun get together since we’ve never met in person – I’ve only met one of them 10 years ago.
I am waiting for Silah to learn to be on her own so my husband and I can do more things together.
I am waiting for medication that helps my mental health but doesn’t have side effects like addiction or weight gain. I may be waiting some time as drug manufacturers are apparently investing less in mental health drugs because there isn’t enough profit in it. Antipsychotics must not be as money making as antidepressants.
I am waiting for my walk/swim training to kick in and start burning fat. I am waiting to stop huffing and puffing on the hills on Cobble Hill Mountain, which I’m trying to fix by doing long walks in my aerobic zone to get faster and stronger.
I’m waiting for that mid-August trail run, for which I fully expect to come in last. I may not be a hardcore trail runner, but I’ll do my best: I plan to hike the hills and run the downhills.
I am waiting for fall so that I can have some book events that people will actually come to. So that I can put another hot, droughty summer behind me and maybe head to the mountains again. I’m waiting for fall because there’s a course I want to take on writing essays. I’m waiting for fall so that I can work in earnest on book number two, instead of spending my time drumming up interest in book number one.
I am waiting for my publisher to tell me what they’re doing for marketing, so I don’t feel like it’s just me out here, putting out feelers and getting shot down. It’s so close now, only two months away, and they tell me they have a plan.
I’m waiting to discuss my book with someone in public, to share stories and ideas. I feel like it will only exist if I can have a conversation about it, otherwise it’s just a bundle of paper on a shelf.
I’m waiting to sign books at my favourite bookstore, Munro’s Books. I’m sad that they won’t do an in-person event, but the summer season is too busy with tourists for that to happen.
I am waiting to hear the owl call and the frogs yell, every night when I go to bed.
I am waiting, for you to read this list and wonder: what are you waiting for?
