Hanginaround

I don't know why Counting Crows punctuated this song title the way they did (or didn't), but it's a good song, and sums up my feelings about waiting. As I write this, I am "hanginaround" waiting for the insurance adjuster to call me for a 2:30 conference call, and it's 2:40. You know how I hate to wait. I wouldn't be so annoyed if he hadn't forgotten Friday and had to reschedule. I need to give a recorded statement about the circumstances of the water damge to my floors and cabinets. It's a little nerve-wracking, not because I won't tell the truth but because I have a hard time shutting up sometimes. In other words, it's not that I'm worried I'll say something I shouldn't, but I have a tendency to go on and on. What should probably take fifteen minutes could easily end up taking a half hour -- once I get going.

One of the things I hate most about waiting is that it keeps me from doing other things. I guess that's obvious. I have grading to do, but I need to keep up my momentum (when I'm able to harness it), so if I know it's likely I'll be interrupted, I wait to start. (It's now 2:45.) Not much makes me mad or even irritated, but lateness on the part of others (if I'm ever late, assume I've experienced death or dismemberment) does it, for sure. In addition to throwing me off other tasks I could be completing, it's just plain rude, and I detest rudeness. I realize not everyone has my punctuality neurosis, so I try to give people a break -- up to a point.

The more this particular call is pushed back, the longer it will take for me to get money to pay for a new floor, and I'm not sure whether I've mentioned that my living room is down to bare concrete. It's not pretty, and best case scenario is that I'll get the money in thirty days. I don't even want to think about worst case. Now it is 2:50, and I just sent the guy a message asking if the call was pushed back again. C'mon, people. Get your shit together!