What's playing on the iPod right now: Please Don't Ask Me
Ah, limbo. What a lovely space to hang out in while you're waiting to see what happens next.
-Insert exceedingly clever sarcastic comment here.-
Such a funny word, too. Sometimes I hear it in my head as "leem-boh", as in "Everybody leem-boh!" and I picture people in beachwear trying to shimmy their way under a pole, while island music plays into the night.
And other times, I envision a sad, Calvin-Kline commercial voice whispering a breathy "limbow" while monochromatic Salvador Dali-like images of clocks and people float in and out of focus.
For an instant-grat girl like me, the latter depiction of waiting in limbo can be hell. I'm not disciplined enough to thwart the what-if's and worst case scenarios that roll fog-like over my good thoughts. I pre-wallow in the muck and mire, so as not to be caught off guard, should the worst case come to fruition. Silly, silly, I know. Did I mention that I'm still honing my good-thought processes?
I should also mention that I'm the one who threw myself into Limboland last night, so I'm not looking for tea and sympathy. Well, actually, tea would be nice. Still, no matter how I got here, it's infinitely worse than hanging out at the DMV. And you know how pointless that can be.
But, despite having dual-citizenship in the land of limbo and the here and now, I've always been able to handle the not-knowing with the help of the one constant in my life:
hope.
I keep hope alive and it's consistently returned the favor.
Until time and proof (the enemies of hope) march in with the stoic determination of the police and street sweepers at midnight on Mardi Gras, and order me to move on, I have hope.
Do you hear that out there in blog-follower land? I have hope.
Just remember that midnight is right around the corner.
-Insert exceedingly clever sarcastic comment here.-
Such a funny word, too. Sometimes I hear it in my head as "leem-boh", as in "Everybody leem-boh!" and I picture people in beachwear trying to shimmy their way under a pole, while island music plays into the night.
And other times, I envision a sad, Calvin-Kline commercial voice whispering a breathy "limbow" while monochromatic Salvador Dali-like images of clocks and people float in and out of focus.
For an instant-grat girl like me, the latter depiction of waiting in limbo can be hell. I'm not disciplined enough to thwart the what-if's and worst case scenarios that roll fog-like over my good thoughts. I pre-wallow in the muck and mire, so as not to be caught off guard, should the worst case come to fruition. Silly, silly, I know. Did I mention that I'm still honing my good-thought processes?
I should also mention that I'm the one who threw myself into Limboland last night, so I'm not looking for tea and sympathy. Well, actually, tea would be nice. Still, no matter how I got here, it's infinitely worse than hanging out at the DMV. And you know how pointless that can be.
But, despite having dual-citizenship in the land of limbo and the here and now, I've always been able to handle the not-knowing with the help of the one constant in my life:
hope.
I keep hope alive and it's consistently returned the favor.
Until time and proof (the enemies of hope) march in with the stoic determination of the police and street sweepers at midnight on Mardi Gras, and order me to move on, I have hope.
Do you hear that out there in blog-follower land? I have hope.
Just remember that midnight is right around the corner.
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