I’m waiting, I tell you.
You look at me. I’m waiting, too.
I say I’m waiting for the shops to open. I’m waiting for another hour. I’m waiting for the bananas to go down in price. They’re too expensive right now. I know they’ll be cheaper soon so I won’t get them now. I want to save a couple dollars. I’m waiting for a good deal. I’m waiting for a lull in foot traffic. It’s really busy this time in the afternoon. It’s really hot. I’ll sweat right through my T-shirt and everyone will see and everyone will laugh. I can’t bear the crowds. I’m not familiar with that cashier.
You say you are waiting for some better weather. You wanted to go to the beach on Saturday but it was too sunny, and then Sunday was too cloudy and then you had to work again on Monday. You’re too busy right now. Work has you flat. All that studying is crushing you. You’re waiting for the workday to end, for the lecturer to release you from boring topics. You’re waiting for exams to finish. They’ll be over soon, you’re sure. Then you’ll finally have time for fun things.
I am waiting to graduate. This tertiary education will end sometime and then I’ll get a real job with a Christmas bonus and paid holiday leave and then I can save. I’m waiting to travel overseas. Not right now — I can’t afford it. Besides, I’m waiting for someone to travel with me. I’m waiting for someone to share my experiences. I’m waiting for love. I’m waiting for that person over there to look at me and realize I’m the one and make a move. If they don’t, then that’s okay, and I’ll do nothing because I’ll wait for the next person to do it instead.
You are waiting for a better job. You’ll look at other options soon, but in the meantime, you still get paid here even if it’s boring. You probably won’t leave. The health benefits are good enough. You are not settling. You’re waiting for your retirement scheme. Then, you can relax. Then, you can finally have some time for yourself. Maybe you might even get a club membership at that resort. Maybe you might start swimming.
I’m waiting to buy a coffin. I can’t decide between cremation and burial. I’m waiting for my granite headstone. I’m sure it will have a beautiful quote and tasteful accolades of all the things I could have been. I’m waiting for my eloquent obituary in the local paper that nobody will read. I’m waiting for the people who kind of knew me to be notified months after I’m gone that I left the same way I lived: silent and hesitant.
We are waiting for our lives to end, or maybe even to begin.
What are you waiting for now? You ask.
I’m waiting for you to go first, I answer.