I learned some time ago to wait my turn. That there are other things in people’s lives more important than me. It’s easy to feel like you are being helpful when you know that by stepping aside, you are allowing someone else to get on with it. Someone faster than you. I learned to make my point quickly and fight viciously against the clock. I learned to ask for what I wanted straight away or miss out. When I sit down to dinner, I eat the best bits first. There is only so much time left in life and who am I to decide how frequently, or infrequently time should be allocated to me? Why should I demand so much time of a person? So here I am, waiting patiently. Letting everyone else run around me living their lives. I can keep myself busy while I wait. Busy personifies so much of who I am these days. It is like cells, dividing and dying. Always rushing to a simple end and yet no further than when the process began. I learned that being visited at eight o’clock might actually mean 9 o’clock. And that the hour in between these two events is treading water. I can be busy for that hour. I can convince myself that I’m glad I had some extra time to do all those things I kept meaning to do. But after my hour of busying I am still at home, waiting to leave. And my time means nothing. But I wait patiently.