Waiting on a call. I feel sick. The more the delay the more my mind speculates and fears come to life.
Moments like these reality starts shaking, becomes translucent, you see through the veneer into another possibility filled with horror, rage and sadness.
Love is so simple and easy to define at these moments. It is absolute and those things that have caused arguments, even the arguments themselves, sit outside the sphere when the whole is under threat from another reality.
Moments away now, waiting on a call.
... Beloved has had to call them, they couldn't say anything yesterday, because the GP wasn't back, they couldn't say anything a couple of hours ago, because she'd only just arrived at work (but it would be put under her nose for immediate attention), now they can't say anything until after 6pm at the earliest because she's busy giving people scrips for their fucking headcolds.
I'm shaking with rage now, Carlton Medical Centre is not at the top of my love list.
...(next morning) well they fitted us in, late, more testing needed. Couldn't fit us in today because they'd left it too late, so it'll be Monday, which means a weekend or more of angst and cancelling our holiday to Queensland next week. Such is fucking life, hey?!
So to answer Mindy's comment, reflected by a couple of others off the web: no, they weren't slow because there was good news, they were just slow.
When the GP came out in a flurry and told the receptionist to "fax this urgently" I cried all over Mitt-Mitt's head.
A pub poem - My chip has fallen to the floor. The bar is crowded. I look down. *Sehnsucht*. A lawless longing for The unattainable. I frown.
18 hours ago