"Good things come to those who wait." Okay, fine, but let's juxtapose that with romance's race to the finish - something my competitive heart finds itself wanting to do when exposed to facebook feeds of consummated loves and babies. I start to think "actually, impatience looks like it does a body good." On cold winter evenings like tonight, I have to wonder if it's fair to "wait" through feelings of loneliness, dejection, and, let's be honest, the raw raging libido of a 33-year-old woman.
The conclusion is that I have to still be patient and believe the work is doing its thing while I turn my life to other things. That the things I deny myself right now will taste sweeter when it's over - if I even need them - but will be better for me because I can enjoy them in moderation, like a nice stable person. I am slowly learning the art of powering through various pains in my life by assuring myself it will pass, and perhaps there I am allowed to be a little impatient. But honestly, to expect patterns I have spent over 20 years building to go away in only eleven days is dead unrealistic. So, patience appears to be the only option, and I'll keep giving it a chance.
Besides, I'm in no hurry for babies anyway. Also, friends please stop naming your babies retarded celebrity-sounding names. Freakonomics put it brilliantly - today's elegantly exotic name is tomorrow's trailer trash. Just a thought.