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Poor Vago

Waiting

Waiting
It was a beautiful fall day when he realized that he was through waiting. He didn’t even know what he’d been waiting for, it just seemed like 29 years was long enough. It was time to quit waiting and start doing….but what did that mean. It was a whole new way of looking at things and he didn’t know if he could make the shift.
It wasn’t even like he was able to make a choice. He’d been waiting to quit smoking, waiting to quit drinking, waiting to write a novel, and waiting for something to happen so that he could do all of those things he’d been waiting to do.
He owned a business, but he was waiting to have the time and money to make it work. He knew a couple of girls, but he was waiting to see which one wanted him and met his standards…he’d been waiting a long time and wouldn’t settle for just anyone….waiting for what or who? Who knew? Not him. He just knew he was tired of waiting.
He’d been waiting to get rid of his stuff, waiting to learn martial arts, waiting to get in shape. He’d also been waiting for a catastrophe or a heart attack. He’d been waiting to get dumped and waiting to go camping. He’d been waiting to try heroin, he was really waiting to die.
Today, he is tired of waiting.
The anarchist woke up to the sound of his housemates getting ready for work. He didn’t have to work today. He only had to get his precious rest. He liked to whine, but sometimes he covered his whining in intellectual discussions about the state and the rules, and the rulers. He didn’t know if anyone saw it for what it was….whining. His dog was whining, whining to either get out of the house or up into the bed with him…he sat up on an elbow and called her up…they both went back to sleep.
He woke up and dragged his knappy head from the pillow, looking around the room and thinking about rubbing one out. He shooed the dog from the bed and yanked his pud for a minute before dediding not to. His nuts had really itched yesterday and the day before and for aobut two months before that. He should have gone to the doctor when he had health insurance, but it was too late for that. After all, an anarchist can’t work for a corporation…or so he told himself so that he could quit the first decently paying job he’d had in nearly two years. He took a job as an organizer in poor communities, half hoping he’d get shot or kicked and half hoping he’d get fired so that he could sink further into the gutter….really ma,it wasn’t his fault, life was so unfair and the state dragged a man down. He was good at his job, but the anarchist excuse allowed him to reject parts of it and offer his new boss of two weeks the terms and conditions he would work under…to his surprise his boss accepted and he found himself with nearly a week off so that he could tell himself to do all the things he’d been waiting to do when he got some time. Most of them had to do with getting rid of his stuff and making his computer work better for him so that he could streamline his stuff and really be organized. That was the idea. Instead, he bought more stuff, and drank more than he could afford, and then to top it off, he bought weed and a volkswagon bus. He had a car, but he loved buses and so he bought one for $100 that he’d planned to use for rent….and maybe it was rent…he could very well be living in the broken down bus by the end of the month…it had happened before….but not when he was an anarchist.
The hippie hated where he lived. His roommate was a loud meateater. He was overly aggressive and drank or was fucked up on something all the time. The hippie was obsessed with getting less stuff so that he could move out of the house. He loved the house, but something told him it was time to go. He told the folks at the morning show he worked at that he’d gotten a job in Alaska. He held a huge garage sale to get rid of all the things he’d found it so important to get…the telescope, the books, the artwork, the furniture, the computer stuff….everything but gear, and what he could fit in his VW bus.
His dog was barely 6 months old and into the bus they moved. He was tired of waiting…waiting to live in the woods, waiting to take his dog into bars, waiting to throw himself to the winds and find adventure, tired of waiting to meet a girl in the town he’d been in for nearly 4 years.
He’d been waiting for a great music scene to be born around him, he’d been waiting to get discovered and become a big radio star, waitng to get his big break, waiting to inherit some money so that he could start a business, waiting to graduate college so he could get a good job.
He’d been waiting to pay off all his bills, waiting to get his DUI fines paid so that he could get his license, waiting to have something exciting drag him away from everything and introduce him to the girl he’d been waiting to meet, she’d better come because the girl he’d been waiting to break up with her boyfriend didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He’d waited for a few other girls. He’d waited to break up with his last girlfriend until she was in love with him and not waitied for anything in the other two ro three drunked out fucking sex-lationships. He’d been waiting three months to get his dick checked and waiting for a windfall to get his teeth cleaned, should of gotten them done while he had insurance.
He was tired of waiting and so he waited until his bus was running decently and he had enough for the ticket. He cooked in alleys, got food from the foodbank (where he waited in line with everyone else) and waited for the date on his ferry ticket to Alaska to come around. Then he waited in the car line (he’d waited for his ticket weeks before) then he found out his dog had to be ticketed and have a statement from the vet, so he frantically drove to the vets, waitied for the certificate, and then returned to waiting in the car line.
Once on the ferry, he could barely wait until he got to Juneau, Alaska…but wait he did, for three days while his dog waited below decks. He waited until the right time to introduce himself to the pretty girls on deck with him. He waited to break out his pot. He waited to touch the girl. Not until the last minute did he touch her and then she had to get back on the ferry…so he made out with her so intensely that he felt okay that he had waited but she was probably freaked out that he tried to fit so much in so little time.
He set up camp by a river and waited for something to happen. He got a job and waited until he was tired of driving so much before he rented a house and waited to see if he’d be able to pay his bills. He waited until he knew that he needed a second job, and sometimes he waited until the girls in the bar had waited as long as him before getting lucky with more drunk sex…sometimes he waited for days before admitting he didn’t remember much and then he waited fro some uncomfortable moment to come up with the girl and it usually did…since he was waiting for it.
He usually waited until he was about out of time before he acted and usually he failed but it was easier to say he had tried and failed because he waited than he had just tried and failed. So he kept waiting.
He drank a lot and waited until he said the wrong things before lighting out, he always said the wrog thing when he drank, but he told himself if he waited it would come under control.
He walked on trails and wrote poetry and made knives and waited for someone to notice how special he was. He waited and waited and in the meantime he waited until sex came along that he could feel bad aobut and he waited for it and jumped onit and called himself an asshole and a jerk and tried to make himself feel cool, but his solitary laughter was hollow and fake and he knew it but wouldn’t admit it.
He waited for job after job to end and then finally waited until a job he’d gotten on a movie ended before saying the worng things to all of the wrong people and picking up a drunk native woman and having sex over and over with her until the morning when he realized he didn’t know her and sank into a depression while he fucked her again and again and again and then hoped she’d disappear soon…he’d waitied for his hippie girl to come…he was a writer and he’d been waiting to write…well no more….he’d leave and start fresh….
The Screenwriter returned to his hometown from the great wilds. He expected somewhere inside himself that a big party was waiting to welcome him back…he’d been waiting for it…all the way back down…he’d sold his bus in Alaska and was waiting for someone to show up to pick up him, his gear and his dog….no one showed…at the gas station someone he didn’t know recognized him and said welcome back….he’d been away abot six months but people had liked him on the morning show…he’d waitied for bigtime fame but he’d wait no longer….he lived in a friends basement and built a fort in the woods…he was waiting to feel how it felt before he made any decision to do anything with the bankroll he’d brought from Alaska….he spent a lot of it drinking while he was waiting, by telling himself that he was paying to have space to be…but really he was waiting for any excuse to get drunk at all. He saw the girl he’d been waiting for, she was very happy with the man she’d been waiting for all her life, he thought of waiting to see what would happen with her as she gave hints of how problems could arise should he wait? He left her house angry at himself for even considering it and went to the travel agent where he had been waiting to buy a ticket to Asia or Australia, instead he bought a monthlong ticket to England which he’d never really been waiting to go to at all. He lived in the park, drank a lot and waited for the time to come when he could use his ticket, he waited for his friends to get home from work to use their showers, he waited until dark to walk through the park, he waited to get the rest of his stuff from his mothers garage before taking the trip, while he was waiting his favorite grandmother died, he hadn’t spent any quality time with her for years, he had been waiting for the right time when he was more stable and better abloe to take the time to visit her, now she had died, waiting to see him one last time and perhaps give him that final word of advice that would have ended all of his waiting…he drank and cried in the woods…it was whiskey this time…
The boys grandfather died while he was waiting to start school. He had some money he’d been waiting to spend and he got his two best friends (who he was waiting to replace with better best friends once school started) and they went on a milkshake spree. They had been waiting to have the opportunity to go on a binge and now it was here, his birthday,Christmas, and paper route money spent on milkshakes, food, and toys. A fire lit from garbage under the street. He waited to cry until later.. He wanted to wait until he was alone but it was a small house and his stepdad was perched on the couch, he waited until he had gotten up to go to the bar and his mom had gotten up to scream after him, both waiting for hours to return, his little sister patted his shoulder and said it’s okay, what’s wrong? He waited until his rage overwhelmed him and then said mean things to her and she began to cry to, but not about their grandpa but about him being mean to her. He left and waited until he was alone near the creek to cry and cry and throw rocks hoping to smash crawdads or fish. The little sister sat in the house waiting for someone to come back and tell her everything would be okay. He waited until he was almost a sleep to go back to the house where his sister was waiting and sleeping. He looked at her and he cried, this time not for his grandfather but because he had been mean to her. He knew it was wrong but he waited to apologize. He waited for thing s to get better but the stepdad kept moving them and kept drinking and doing drugs and the mom kept chasing after him and drinking more and more and strange bar people began filling the house and the boy and his sister waited for their big brother to come make things better and he came and they waited for hime to either fight the stepdad, runaway with them, or kill himself. The big brother did drugs too and held very little back about his emotions told the boy and girl how bad the step dad was and the boy began to think of ways to kill himself too, and he tried a few times but waited to do anything real drastic and waitied and the big brother went away and the mom accused the stepdad of being a homosexual and sucking men off at truck stops and they both began drinking more and fighting more and hurting each other more and the mom accused neighbors of attempted rape and the stepdad beat her more and grandma came and drove the stepdad away and then she left and then he came back and then the boy walked in and found the mom screaming on the floor and the stepdad standing over her and the boy had a gun and the boy pointed it at the stepdad and told him to stop, but the step dad told him to shoot him, the step dad demanded that the boy shoot him and told him he didn’t have the guts for it and the mom begged him not to and the boy waited and he cried and he left. He figured he’d wait to shoot the stepdad until later, he waited for another incident but the fighting and the drinking and the drugs never go that serious again while he was there and the boy began stealing beers and drinking them and thinking about stealing pot and smoking it and looking at the stepdads dirty magazines that he kept under the dresser and under his pistol that the boy began to play with and the boy called his dad and begged to let him come live with him and then he packe up his stuff in two trunks and illegally shipped all of his guns and weapons to his dads house in California. The boy was waiting until december when he would turn 13. He was waiting to be a teenager and he would be so cool in California, because here he didn’t get along with other kids and he was sort of a geek, but he had tried to be cool playing sports and hanging out with all the popular kids and waiting for a girlfriend since the 5th grade but none of them ever liked him, they liked bigger kids and smaller kids and never him that he could tell, but he would wait til he got to his new school to be cool…like he used to be in the 3rd grade before the step dad moved them…he waited and he knew he would be cool because all his gradeschool friends were the cool 8th graders now.