Waiting. This is something I am not good at doing. Ask anyone who knows me. I do not do well when it comes to waiting, though, a lot of times I do it to myself. I hate waiting so much that I am obsessive about people waiting on me. Doesn’t make sense? Well, I will get to an arranged meeting spot 10 to 15 minutes early and wait on others just so they do not have to wait on me. No, now that I think about it, that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Regardless of this nonsense, I hate waiting, and, once again, I have done it to myself.
My application for graduate school is due for early review on March 15th. What did I do? I submitted it a little over a week ago. Three weeks early. I submitted my application three weeks before the early review date. What have I done every day since I submitted my application? I have checked the status. I have checked on the status of my application every day. Every. Single. Day.
Like I said, I do not do well when it comes to waiting.
I know exactly where I get that from. A short story…
When my brother and I were growing up, school started at 8, well middle and high school started at 8:15, but the home room call was at 8. Take a guess at what time we got to school every day. Between 7:30 and 7:40/45. See, my dad has to get everywhere early and when he had to be at work by 8, he had to get there well before 8, so that means we got to school early…way early. Did that stop once I got my driver’s license and became responsible for getting my brother and me to school? No. I moved the heavens and earth to get my brother out of the bed and showered so we could leave the house by 7:30 for the 10 minute drive to school.
Did that stop once I moved out of the house? No. With every job I have had, I have shown up at least 10 to 15 minutes early for the shift, well, except for those pesky times of over-sleeping. When I know that I am not going to be at least 10 minutes early, my mind begins to panic. Yes. Panic. My heart rate rises and the dread and fear of being late overcomes any rational thought that could pass through my head. I am always in competition with the clock. When we go on a trip and use the GPS and the GPS tells us that we will arrive by 3:15, I do everything in my power to arrive by 3:00. I guess you could call it an obsession or a compulsion or an obsessive compulsion.
When I went back to school to finish my undergrad, I was the student that was either at the door first, waiting for the previous class to end so I could sit at my desk, or I was the first one in the door of the empty classroom waiting for my other classmates and professor to show up. I was that guy, not because I wanted to impress the professor with my punctuality, but because I needed to do it. I needed to do it. If I was going to be tardy, I would not even go to class. That is how much I hate being late. I would rather chalk up an absence than be late to class.
This drives my need to always be early and adds to my frustration of hating to have to wait, because what happens when I get to class early? I have to wait for it to start. It is a vicious cycle that never, ever ends. It’s like the bad joke that never goes away, or the shitty song that stays in your head and plays over and over and over and over again.
So, I have already checked on the status of my application once today. I will probably do so again after lunch, and at least one more time before I go to bed. Why? Because I am a glutton for punishment, and I cannot wait to see what happens. Now that I think about it, that saying makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Clearly, I can wait, and I hate it.