Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

Sitting in front of the mailbox. Waiting for the mailman to come. Waiting to come home to an envelope from one of four places, or do I dare say, four envelopes from all four places sitting on my kitchen table. Sitting at my computer waiting for the much too anticipated for notifications to come. Waiting to make future plans that are really in the not so distant future that are demanding to be made yesterday. Wishing for the arrival of acceptance or rejection letters. Wishing, in a strange sort of terrifying way for at least one, just one acceptance to graduate school.

This has been my life for the past month. The anticipation will be the death of me.

I love my house.

It's a cacophony of water droplets leaking from every possible faucet throughout the house.

It's a tiny clink resulting from that of a tin bowl catching water from the leak in our roof every time it rains. We've got a whole symphony.

It's the sound of nasty cat, scratching around in our roof/attic/unexplainable area above our heads. I have absolutely zero idea of how it got up there, or exactly where "up there" is since nasty cat is nowhere to be found there, but it adds a nice mix to the percussion of the falling of the water globules.

It's a nice electrical problem creating a nice strobe light effect as the electricity in any given room flashes out, just to flash back on as we switch the breaker box. Drying my hair may be interrupted many times, but at least there's a nice disco atmosphere through the process.

It's the explosive water spewing--no, flooding from the tap in the kitchen and the resultant dance and squeal while trying to make it stop. It just adds to the rave ambiance.

It's the toilet that won't flush from either 1) plumbing problems, 2) a broken flusher, or 3) water turned off by the city for various other dance moves of girls prancing around with their knees squeezed together hoping the toilet will be working. Soon. Just in case the other dance moves were not to your satisfaction.

It's the outrageous heating bill that only results from pitiable insulation that you must pay to get into such an uncontrollable party.

It's the furnace that goes out to control the heat of this party.

It's one of a kind.

It's the one.

It's the only.

It's the yellow brick house.

It's where I live.