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     When you transcend into the realm of baby-boomerism, many things change. The two major diversities is that your bladder gets to be the size of a walnut, and while you tick the remaining moments of your life off, you will spend many of the moments waiting! Waiting in line for the Blue Plate Special down at Gerty's Pork House. Waiting for one of your many prescriptions at Walgreens. Standing in the long lines at the super market because the zit encrusted cashier at the 10 or less checkout won't allow you through with your 11 items.

    When I waddle into the restroom at Wal-Mart, I have to stand in line at the urinal behind a guy as he spends five minutes flushing out his bladder like hummingbird tear drops because of a tormented prostate while I dance behind him clinching a pressurized down spout!

     Waiting. Always waiting. I can't remember have to wait so much when I was young, but then again the lines were shorted then as there were a hell of a lot less people in this country, a lot less. I hate waiting. I just want to relax, and lay back and enjoy the sun and blue sky. Sadly, you have to wait forever for a spot at the beach to do it now.

     I'm at that point in life where when I read a book, I always stop half way through and jump to the last chapter. Not that I don't want to wait for the ending, but, at my age, my duration on this planet is now minimized and nothing would piss me off more that to croak half way through a great book. Croaking, on the other hand, is about the only thing I don't mind waiting for.

     I hate the waiting room at my doctor's office with all the burnt out geriatrics sitting around sucking on oxygen tanks, or hacking up wads of God knows what from their inners. Makes me feel like I'm in an episode of The Walking Dead. At that point, I usually start to rub my chest and look up and speak out loud to my long dead mother when I can't take the waiting any longer, and the nursie gal behind the patient proof glass comes out and ushers me ahead of the other walkers.  

     Now a days, you wait in traffic, the DMV, 7-11, drive-throughs, the post office, ATMs, trial dates, and every amusement park known to man, womanhood, transgendered and still undecided. Waiting! How much of our life is atrophied by the torment of waiting? I have spent enough time waiting, in my relic of a life, to repaint the entire Sistine chapel with every known character in the Disney catalog.

     Sure, a lot of folks will tell you that the longer you wait for something, the more you appreciate it when you get it, because anything worth having is worth waiting for. Sorry, I don't do those kind of friggin drugs.




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