You’re probably aware that I’m waiting to hear back from a London-based literary agent who’s reading my manuscript. That is, if she didn’t use it as kindling as soon as she saw its mammoth, unpublishable, size. (They did have a very cold winter over there.) I blame it on the double spacing and unhealthy margins required by standard submission formatting.
I’m waiting for my passport to be renewed by the US consulate in Auckland, hoping that it will arrive in time for my trip next month.
I’m waiting for world peace.
I’m waiting for the price of cheese to drop.
I’m waiting to be beamed up and teletransported to a beach in the Dominican Republic.
I’m waiting for someone to translate Dr. Seuss’s Fox in Socks in Italian so that I don’t have to spontaneously translate “tweetle beetle puddle battle” to my bilingual son.
I’m waiting for my eyesight to improve.