I am in thick of waiting, my one month’s respite before I start work in November, and this has been my life of late.

Rest is good; God invented it. He made everything and then he rested – that’s pretty clear; but what he did while he was resting no one really knows. That’s problem number one: what does one do while resting? If you do something are you still resting? Realize that it is impossible to do nothing: even if one were to lie down stock still one would still be lying down stock still. Breathing, of course, digesting, pumping blood. Hair would go on growing, plus nails, and skin would be shed.

I suppose to the untrained eye I would appear to be doing nothing. Perhaps I am, if doing nothing were not to be taken literally, because I’m so bored. Blame the recession: if I could afford it I would be in the movie theater by now, or inviting my friends to eat out. I could be on vacation; one that has the appearance of a vacation -- sand and sea, hotel rooms and mini bars, dancing in the evening, that sort of thing. Instead I’m just making myself progressively more anxious about “doing nothing” with every day that passes.

When was the last time something like this happened to me? Oh yes, let’s not forget my infamous turn at the intensive care unit. No TV, no books, no visitors for twenty-two agonizingly long hours. There were whole afternoons spent sitting semi-upright in my bed where I just sat, propped up on pillows, waiting for nothing. At least at the time I was busy getting well. Every time my oxygen levels dropped my machine would come alive with harried beeps – that sort of entertained me after the initial panic that is having a sound to go with the troubles in your body. A nurse would come in and feed me grapes, drain my catheter bag, and make small talk about ruling out renal failure.

Before that time the only other occasion for mind-numbing waiting would be the last two months of my life in the womb. Actually, it’s presumptuous of me to assume that the waiting at the time was mind-numbing, for who could attest to what it was like to float around for two months with hands and feet completely formed, head ready with nascent thoughts? That is problem number two: for most people the only time they spent waiting around doing nothing was that time before they were born, and no one remembers that time. How can they apply what they learned there? Maybe it’s irrelevant: can one do now what one did for two months ensconced in a bubble of proteins? I have this nagging feeling I enjoyed those days. Ha! Every time I can’t remember if something was a good or bad thing I always assume it was good, and add to my frustration. Who else would make my life hard if I weren't up to the task?

Which leads me to problem number three: why can’t we remember only the things we want to recall? I don’t understand why people tell me to forget things. How do I do that? Can anyone do that? I would give anything to forget on demand. If I found out how that was done I’d make an enterprise out of it because I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who suffers from remembering.

If boredom spawned creativity I would have more insight than any reader can handle. Instead I release to the universe a long drawn-out whine, a complaint completely articulated but offering no resolution, no moral. I’m sure that I’ll never figure out the problems I wrote about today. All I can really hope for at this point is that I forget them, and we know how that goes.