This is my last Christmas. They don’t know it yet. My two smallest are tucked away dreaming, while I add the final touches under our tree. Soon, they’ll tumble down the stairs propelled by Santa’s gifts. The smiles, the glee, the magic throughout the room will light me up brighter than heaven itself. Only then do I get to unwrap my own presents. I’ll lift them up to feel their weight, carefully peeling back their badly placed tape, and with my eyes snap a Polaroid that I will take with me into the sky. I sip my coffee and wait.

There, job applications are all done. I sigh. Now, I just need to wait.

Any relief I might've felt is short-lived, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. When will I get the call? Who will call? What will they be like? What will my soon-to-be coworkers be like? Will I be able to keep up with them? Will I be able to do everything without getting overwhelmed? What about the customers themselves? Will they make this retail hell, or mostly bearable?

Everything is unknown, unpredictable. There is no peace of mind. Not until I get the call.

But even then...

For me waiting has always been associated with unpleasantness. Interminable waits in doctor's offices or hospital waiting rooms where life becomes frozen except for the anxious working of the mind fighting with itself to stay strong and positive while anticipating inevitable disappointment. This waiting is torture for the mind and spirit, life stops completely with no relief until my name is called. But that is only a brief respite, I'm taken to another room and made to wait again. After it seems like it will never happen the Doctor finally appears and apologizes for "the wait", I say "no problem."

“My thick skull resonates my mothers voice, "Why so many keys? Keep it simple stupid."

C'mon, C'mon. Teeth chattering, and hands trembling, I’m frantically fumbling through my key-ring. Too many useless fuckin keys, god damnit. His figure enters the alley—Shadow lurking. The dingy street light is no help to find my front door lifeline. The groaning wind numbs my frozen fingers. His ominous whistle gets louder, closer. Weeping with fear, my nose pours out its snot. I screech. No, No, No. My keys suddenly stop shaking. The hair on my neck stands tall. He whispers.

"Kaattiieee, it‘ll be over soon."

The taste on my tongue

lingers

in some impossible realm,

Incubated and frozen

between

the bitter and the sweet.

Only in this anticipation

of no expectation

can my hope survive,

my will can remain alive.

It is all about the balance,

the limbo

of limbic proportions,

I am to remain here,

I believe,

For infinite eternity,

the breath held-

Caught between the taste in

the cloying saltiness,

Like that of the wife-legend of Lot;

the shifting of flesh

the moment before

the pillar was formed.

I am waiting to have a dream like Martin, seeing sons and daughter in collective shapes of hand in hand. No placards of protest needed to assert our obvious progresses not yet achieved.

I am waiting for the wonder of together standing to be noted for its norm.

I want us to be for granted that, we are the dream and the waiting for that dream to be the nightmare long ago dispelled.

I am waiting for feeling empathy has transcended, that touch is an unbreakable embrace.

I am waiting for divinities perfection to purify me and who I am.

A red light.

Color often means nothing in our lives, but when it comes to vehicles and laws, they suddenly mean everything.

The light stays red.

You’re there for a while, and you ponder the consequences if you go ahead. There’s no cars that’ll hit you, and you have some place to be. Just drive ahead a couple feet, all you have to do.

The light’s red for far too long.

What have you waited for? You’re out of time now. You’ve been done.

When the light changes, you speed as you can, but you’ve missed the event. Too late.

I sit alone in that tiny shadow,

No one to notice,

Rocking back, deeper into the darkness.

I scream,

Hoping for a response,

But the silence stays still.

Too quiet,

Too Quiet.

TOO QUIET!

Screaming won't help,

I suffer,

Oh how will I get out.

When the path is all covered up.

I wait at work

Wait at the store

Waiting, waiting

One minute more

The bank, the Vet

The DMV

Wait while they all

Stare at me

The Dr's office

I spend some time

There never seems to

Be a short line

To take a flight

They move so slow

The TSA

Puts on a show

But most of the time

I wait at home

Or in the car

When we go roam

For woman does not

Wait for man

They have their own

Master plan

So, mostly I

Just sit a wait

On my true love

My bride, my mate

12 long years, waiting for the next promotion.

The ‘friendly’ comment I heard most often “You don’t mean that? 12 years? Why are you still here?” Or rather what is wrong with you?

And to be honest, I didn’t know.

But what I also didn’t know was what I gained in those 12 long years.

A mature attitude, patience, a can-do attitude that would help me survive in the jungle of the next job.

What did come was a self-belief thicker than a bear’s skin.

What did come was knowledge that helped me ace the odds in the next job.