The Waiting Game

I wish it was the 60s. I wish I could be happy.
I wish, I wish, I wish that something would happen!
I do not wish for the 60s, Mr. Yorke, but I wish something would happen.

Keven and I are both playing the waiting game, and the patience required for that game is great. He is mere inches away from a job offer, but nothing on paper. Yet. Every night when Kev comes home, I grill him about potential leads and if he's received any info about jobs, interviews, etc. I also update him on my rejection count as I wait for movement on the Serenade front. Granted, at the moment, his securing gainful employment is more important than my potential book sale, but the log-jam of pending, holding, circling limbo is just crazy mad.

And then there's the little issue three feet of snow outside. Waiting on spring. Waiting waiting waiting. Is it no wonder I've resorted to desperate means of entertainment lately? I mean, karaoke is bad enough -- but I've been resurrecting Wham! and Bryan Adams and Heart and Ricahrd Marx, of all the freaky ass things. Ick. Don't be ashamed for me. I've got it covered.

In the meantime, we're just working. Today, I passed 43,500 words on RWS, frantically trying to hold onto disparate, frustrating, fractured plot threads. So slippery, those damn things! Keven is going to class, going to work, going through the interview hoops. Nothing much else to do, other than make fun of the male contestants on "American Idol." And hope for spring.

1 comment:

Ann(ie) said...

I hit 45,500 yesterday. Today it's 50,500 or bust.

Six more days.