Waiting

I’m not real good at waiting.

A few minutes, maybe, but make me sit past what I consider a reasonable time (five minutes after our scheduled time…MAYBE, but most likely, maybe not) and I won’t be there when you arrive.

Never make the mistake of verifying your scheduled time, because to me, that carves it in stone. If it is in the business arena, you have just severed the only route through to doing business with me.

Ever.

Like an elephant.

Waiting for a loved one in major surgery (required anesthesia and/or blood transfusion) has to be one of the worst. In my lifetime, I have endured eight major surgeries and about ten minor surgeries, so Karen has done her share of waiting to see if her prayers worked or if any of the deals she made with God came through.

Evidently not.

I’m still here.

Finally, I am posting close to my fortieth take of trying to record Your Song.

Your Song

Let me know…

We are presently waiting for the PetSmart groomers to call us to go rescue our little furry amigos.

I finally sent an email to the band leader and said what is up and if they still plan on doing the band thing. This is NOT my kind of waiting. Hope it works out.

Oh well.

Soon, I won’t have much room left on my limited schedule of dates I will play solo gigs.

I am sure I will keep busy this upcoming holiday season.

My waiting is almost over for the college football season to resume.

My Fighting Irish will try to avoid a beat-down by the semi-pro Ohio State Buckeyes.

Now that I don’t work, I am much better at waiting for things. Karen says that is bullshit. I was just on a phone with a bank representative and she thought I was being an impatient jerk, but she could not hear what the dipshit on the other line was saying.

Don’t you love it when you begin to patiently explain something in further detail, only to be interrupted mid-sentence by someone who is not listening, but talking over every word you are trying to say?

I don’t.

And just to prove that I am not waiting until I am 100% fit for the golf course, here is my latest scorecard for nine holes at the Jamaica Run golf course.

Front nine Jamaica Run

The only thing I remember was that I got a par on the 8th hole.

Now, I had balance issues, and I still haven’t been able to turn on my swing like I want, but I count every stroke.

No mulligans.

I still haver trouble hitting off the special handicapped tees they have set up, and that is stupid, stubborn, ignorant, asinine, and hubris at work.

But hey, that’s me, Maddogg.

It looks like they are waiting out at Cape Canaveral in Florida to launch the Artemis I.

“To the moon, Alice!”

I guess we can afford to send a hundred-billion dollar space program forward now that we have already taken care of ending world hunger, ending global illiteracy, solved world peace and ended hatred, racism, and division.

What?

Oh, never mind.

Stay well.

Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

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