Waiting

Waiting for a small dog to come and stay overnight. They always give me a specific time when they’ll arrive with him, and then arrive three hours early (just as I’m getting back from grocery shopping) or three hours late. It leaves me uncertain about when or even whether they’re coming. Currently we are 66 minutes past Zero Hour and it’s getting dark. I was thinking of putting my boots on so that I could trot straight out for a short hobble round the block with the dog when he arrives, just to make sure he didn’t need to spend a penny, but then I could clearly imagine myself sitting all night with my boots on, waiting for a dog who didn’t come.

It’s a sad life – hee. I suppose there are worse things I could be doing.

I had the TV on for a few minutes and saw people chasing an escaped cassowary. Somebody said “… and now it is up to us to sit back and wait for the cassowary to walk back in her own time.” It was the ‘it’s up to us’ that grated – ‘we have to wait’ would use less breath and makes more sense, or ‘all we can do is wait’.

Still no dog. All I can do is wait.

After the flitting of the bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement-curtain by,
And glanced athwart the glooming flats.
She only said, “The night is dreary,
He cometh not,” she said;
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!”

From ‘Mariana’ by Tennyson

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