As I sit here with my knee elevated, enduring the discomfort of the switch out between icepack and heat wrap, I wonder when (if) I will ever learn to be patient. There's a fine line between busting your butt to achieve more and working so hard you hurt yourself, and I've crossed it physically. Now comes the waiting for my knee to heal. I hate waiting. But if I ever want to run again (or even walk without a limp), I need to be patient and give my knee a rest.
I'm also waiting on possible new job interviews, a call from an agent (hopefully telling me my novel is the best thing to hit fantasy since Industrial Light and Magic) and for my husband to get home out of the stormy night. I hate waiting. But if I want to be a successful employee/writer/wife, I have to learn to wait with grace.
So in the meantime I'll write. I'll read. I'll work while I'm waiting. But that doesn't mean I like it any more.
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