9 days after the Super Bowl and I’m reconsidering what my cousin said by “shortly after” he’d have his comments n edits for Book of Blues.
I have no patience anymore. I don’t live for much else and I’m ready to go back to work on it.
My cousin’s like me: he’s much more impatient when he’s the one who has to wait. I am. I’m half tempted to reprint the draft and go through it one more time, but that’s because I’m being impatient.
The old sayings run through my head:
- Patience is a virture
- A watched pot never boils
- Rome wasn’t built in a day
- First things first
Well as I watch the snow melt, the paint dry and the grass grow, I started to get frazzled at the feeling of my hair getting grayer, my wrinkles getting longer and my youth fading away. As I hear the sounds of sand slipping away like sands through an hourglass, I not only live in the present, but I hold on to every day like it was my last.