Wave coming ... won't last long ...
To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose … a time to wend / a time to stew …
Or something like that … being rather big on the paraphrastic versions of stuff these days.
Those who know me well could spout some home truths that I’d cop to without reservations … and, yes, that paraphrasing thing would be one as I have been known to make it up as I go along. Off the top of my head I can come up with quite a list of unappealing facts about Sandra, but since this is a blog, not a confessional, I’ll limit acknowledgment of faults to a couple.
One: I’m crap with numbers.
Two: I am not a patient woman.
The first is neither here nor there as, aside from making Gay keep score in Scrabble games, the shutting down my brain does when issues go from words to digits doesn’t usually gall anyone but me.
The second failing, however, can annoy the fuck outta peeps. The Kokonets, for example, are often driven to distraction by my constant harping over the shitty Internet connection they provide … or don’t, as is actually the case most of the time. I have no tolerance for “monitoring” or “running the problem by the techs” or not answering the bloody phone when my number pops up for the 4 bazillionth time in just about any given day. (‘Driving them to distraction’ is just an expression, of course, since it’s focus that’s the inherent problem to begin with and distraction the modus operandi du every bloody jour.)
It could be said that I have the patience of job … small ‘j’, short ‘o’ … as in Let’s get this shit cleaned up NOW, and no dilly-dallying, or, What the hell do you mean ‘it will take three days’?????.
Forbearance is not my strong suit, and although I can certainly be understanding, indulgent even, I am easily perturbed by what seems wasting time and do lack self-restraint. I have been known to leap off cliffs in single bounds with only the thinnest of lifelines and may not deal well with those more equanimous … or sensible … or cautious … whatevahhhh …
So shoot me.
I’m much more for wending when wend works than for stewing in much the same way I prefer a good stir-fry over soggy veggies … a bit of bite is necessary while I still have all my teeth.
Yes, sometimes that bite ends up on my ass and I’m better off when my bleeding impetuosity is tempered by a temperament somewhat cooler than mine as the conflagration that happens when hasty meets reckless tends to come quickly to ash.
Since wending is neither rushing nor aimless wandering, I’m not worrying over stew these days … rather thinking more along terms of soup. After all, isn’t the paraphrastic version of consommé a verb?
A collection of my short stories:
I'm in this one, too ...
And I'm in here, as well ...
Paradise Preoccupied 