I wrote that “Ticktock” above and realized we don’t hear that sound very often, anymore.
When I was in school, there was always a clock on the wall.
TICKTOCK, TICKTOCK, it said loudly, its round face smiling down on the classroom like an old man, which – in a way – is creepy. Scratch that. You get my meaning, though.
It either went v e r y slowly – or quickly – depending on what you were doing. Dissecting a tape worm, it went slow (and yes, we really did that. Seriously? Yes. Not that I’d want to dissect anything ELSE, for crying out loud. But there’s something especially gruesome about a tape worm. I mean, where did it come from? Where did all these tape worms come from? People’s colons? Gross! Or were they raised on a tape worm farm? *shudder*)
Good Lord, where was I? Clocks. The kinds with faces. Back in the days when you said, “A quarter after” or “Half past seven”… gone are those days, eh?
Digital (and now cell phones) take the ticktock sound out of watching the minutes go by. Sad, that’s all. I mean, if you find those kinds of things sad. I may be overreacting. Possibly overreaching. Killing time. <<< This tickles me. You’ll see why in a moment.
Point is: I’m waiting for a few specific “somethings” to happen. I’m planning… I’m plotting… and yes, I’m waiting… because I sense that some things are going on behind the scenes. They might tip in my favor… or not… and, well, it’s been said: I’m waiting to find out which way things will go.
I hate the “not knowing” of waiting. What I do know is this… whichever way the axe falls, it will split something wide open.
I can’t believe I used an axe illustration. Ick. I remember a kid in Jr. High… what was his name? Mike? Michael? I think so… but then again, he was black and had a wicked Afro… hmmm… I may be thinking of Michael Jackson. It’s been 45 years, for crying out loud. I guess I could cut myself some slack. His name really was Mike. I’m sure of that. Did I say 45 years? Wow, that long. Boggles the mind.
Anyway, he brought this book to school… like some police journal of his dad’s with photos of gruesome killings. I don’t remember many of the photos, thankfully, but the clothes iron and the axe still cross over my memory occasionally. Both head wounds. I don’t need to describe them, do I? What an awful thing for a kid to see. Huh. *thud* <<<that’s the sound of my stomach hitting my feet. I just remembered the photos again. They really were quite horrible.
Anyway, an axe… well, it can make a clean cut, and that’s necessary when new beginnings are on the horizon. Clean cuts, clear though… chop, chop, chop… no mess. What am I thinking? It would be brutally messy. Well… what else could I have used to describe it? A butter knife? Children’s dulled scissors? A wheat cracker? <<< They’re really sharp, actually, which you’d know if you ever jabbed a corner of one in the roof of your mouth! I don’t know how this post became so violent. Yikes! See, that’s why I found the “Killing time” comment above kind of apropos.
In saying that, I realize that life is not so cut and dry. I’ve really been working hard to see the gray. I used to be a VERY black-and-white thinker. Right. Wrong. Period. Caused a lot of heartache. But I digress. Again.
Some choices in life are scary and possibly dangerous… but necessary… and new beginnings only come after endings of one kind or another. So, yeah, I’m waiting… a little nervous, a little scared… and a little excited.
I read this quote… “I stand here waiting. To disappear or sing.” ~ Francesca Lia Block
This is exactly how I feel!
It’s my time to sing! Right? Right!
I do wish the quote had said something I don’t actually suck at… like hug, write or eat cupcakes. I used to love singing, back when my asthma didn’t limit my breathing and therefore, my voice. These days, I can barely carry one note, let alone a whole tune. Ta-dum! I make myself laugh.