Monday, November 16, 2009
Anticipation is intoxicating. I get a rush out of waiting for something, and it doesn't have to be anything life-altering. I used to look forward to Tuesdays when my children brought their weekly folders home. I look forward to the mail each day, hoping there will be a card or letter hiding among the fliers and bills.
I look forward to my day off, and to the weekends. I often read soon-to-be-published novels thanks to my book store friend, and savor the time between having read them and being able to recommend them to friends.
I look forward to seeing my family on holidays, to giving gifts, to eating good food at the table.
Anticipation of bad things, like doctor's appointments, funerals, surgery, has its own intoxication. But that's a topic for another day.
Tomorrow night I am reading a short story to my writing group. It's the first time I've read, and a couple of the people are new to me. I feel high about sharing my story, and a little anxious about how they will receive it. But deep in my gut is a fluttery feeling: anticipation.