I’ve been spending the majority of my life waiting for things.  This endless treadmill cycles on and on with no light at the end of the tunnel.  There is no promise of an end in sight, not even a false one.  Meanwhile, I get smaller and yell louder.

So that explains how, while you were sleeping, I anxiously chewed my fingernails to a nub.  I tapped and twisted and fidgeted, staying still was never my strong suit.  I was pensive and then manic, vacillating between the two every few minutes.  I ranted and raved.  In a moment, I calmed down on my own, pushing the lid back down on the bubbling pot and holding the contents at bay at a low simmer.  Instead,

I baked and cooked up a breakfast feast for midday snacking.  When I ran out of ingredients, I hopped over to the grocery store and cleaned out their entire supply of butter and eggs.  Every surface of the apartment became covered in pie and other assorted breakfast pastries.

I orchestrated imaginary fights with you, arguing both sides, and dissolving into angry tears at the end.  We didn’t come to blows in the first 500 scenarios.

I read out loud to you.  You have lucid dreams.

I cleaned the oven, and in doing so, found an alternate entrance to Narnia.  After three decades and way too much Turkish delight, I found my way back to the apartment where only thirty seconds had passed since I disappeared.

I wrote a twitter novel which quickly went viral and turned into a NYTimes bestseller.  However, on Amazon, I only focused on the one star reviews and hated myself.

I attended a roast in your honor and made the opening salvo.

I downloaded plans to build a tiny house on wheels and take it on a cross country road trip.  I trimmed down my belongings to the bare essentials, grew a beard, and took a shower once every other week.

I aged fifteen years and then back again.  No one noticed which was both morale boosting and killing.

I hitchhiked to Death Valley and snapped pictures of the glaring white sand against a blue bird sky.

When you finally awoke and saw me in my flour-covered, ratty-haired, nerve-wracked glory, you raised an eyebrow.  You’ve always been one of few words.  “Why didn’t you wake me to join you?”