Wednesday, July 14, 2010

The Wait Vol. II: CHILLAX!

The days continued. With each day that passed the ritual remained the same. I would wait for the time when the mail was due to arrive. The now seemingly scripted dialogue soon followed: "Did the letter come today?" "Not today, honey." "Do you think it'll come tomorrow?" "I dunno, honey. We'll see." My wife and kids had been very patient with me. They accommodated the daily questions. They would occasionally would pat me on the shoulder and tell me it would be okay. They even let me be when I ultimately began rocking myself in a chair (sans rocking chair) and repeating "They said it would be two weeks but it's been more than two weeks. Two weeks is FOURTEEN DAYS." They DID become a LITTLE concerned when I began marking each passed day on the wall with a chalk mark.

Finally, as much as they love me, my wife and kids had endured as much as they could take. They had grown tired of the daily questions and the rocking. My wife insisted that I clean the chalk marks off the wall. We had begun to incur legal costs as the postman had sued and filed an order of protection against my wife for her "unprovoked attack during the performance of the postal carrier's duties". Some people can be REALLY touchy I guess. Finally, I got up one day to discover that my daughter had written a message on my bedroom mirror: "It will come when it comes so CHILLAX!" So I decided to pull myself together. After all, my wife keeps telling me "Good things come to those who wait." I'll try to remember that the next time I am in the doctor's office waiting to undergo a "routine diagnostic procedure".

Then, one fine summer Saturday, I stood outside basking in the sunshine. My wife and daughter were both out of the house. I watched the cars as they passed by my house. I was beginning to embrace the day as a long overdue return to normalcy. It was around this point that this feeling began to overcome me. It was a good feeling but, all the same, it felt unusual in light of the self-induced near catatonic state from which my wife and daughter had all but forcefully ejected me (though they use the words "gently nudged").

Out of the corner of my eye, I began to see a shade of blue. I had seen this shade before but couldn't place why it was so familiar. As I turned my gaze to finds the source of the color it became clearer. A nice man in a blue uniform toting a satchel on his shoulder approached me. He seemed REALLY nervous. "Your mail, Sir", he said. I thanked him as I accepted the delivery from his trembling hands. This guy was shaking like Don Knotts in a deep freezer. "Your wife's not here, is she?" I told him she was out and he went his way. For the life of me, I don't know what it was about my wife that apparently made him so nervous.

I took the mail inside and began to sort out the bills and the mail that goes directly to the recycle bin (addressed to "Current Occupant". Suddenly, as I looked at the last piece of mail, the good feeling that came over me turned to ecstasy. IT CAME! IT FINALLY CAME! The letter read: "Congratulations, you have been accepted….into our BS in Heath Information Management program for the Fall 2010 semester….A transfer credit evaluation including the number of credits accepted will be sent under different cover." I'M IN! I'M IN! I'M IN! I whipped out my handy dandy cell phone and took a picture of the envelope. I then sent to picture to my wife's cell phone. She called me right away and proudly congratulated me.

Alas, the next few days passed by and I began to wonder: "Hmmm, what about that transfer of credit letter?" Then, it began again. "Did the letter come today?" "Not today, honey." "Do you think it'll come tomorrow?" "I dunno, honey. We'll see." My wife was kind enough to call the college and inquire today. They said the transfer of credit letter had been signed off by the director. I should receive the package in about a week or so. I have decided to NOT panic over this (thanks to the advice of Douglas Adams). After all, the postal carrier was kind enough to drop the suit. I think I'll relax and listen to the radio. OH, MAN! The radio station is playing Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods AGAIN! UGH!