The non-goal-oriented are different from you and me.

Or, to leech off another work of literary genius, all non-goal-oriented people resemble one another; each goal-oriented soul is miserable in his own way.

Or, to cheese it up a notch, it was a dark and stormy unnamed-but-seemingly-interminable number of nights.

Over and over, I'm being told to be patient. That "it" is right there, the thing I'm looking for, that clarity, that understanding, that NNW (or SSE, or whatever) on the compass. Or around the corner. Or around the corner, down the block, past the highway, thumb out, hitching a ride on the lonely interstate, making its way to me. My job, and everybody has a job, as Frances the Anthropomorphic Badger's father told me so many years ago, is to sit tight and wait for it. To sit, period. To soak in it. I mean, I'm allowed to get up and use the metaphoric restroom or stretch my metaphoric legs: this isn't E.S.T.

Okay, I'm being a little dramatic. Let's chalk it up to frustration at being sick again because I ignored the warning signs again because, well, it was too much fun, grabbing at all those shiny objects around me. I'll be fine. It's just normal-people sick, not Crohn's sick, and I've scaled back. (Which was another helpful suggestion I received, to scale back. Really? Ya think?)

The universe will present you with the same lesson over and over until you choose to learn it. Occasionally, if you're really lucky and the universe is in the right kind of mood, it will give you a peek under the tent at eternity. In the meantime, do your job, even if the job of the moment is a kind of not-doing.

Do. Soak. Repeat...

xxx
c

Image by emdot via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.