You know how, when you make a long text post, you’re never sure whether to put a title or to just jump straight in, so people are wowed by the big philosophical Point B that you get to from Point A, and don’t have it spoiled for them by a giveaway title?
Yeah, spoilers in the title. So if you want to get the big juicy reveal, with none of the meandering crap to burden you down along the way - there you go. Life’s waiting room.
For all you interested in joining me on the lower road, hello. Hope you’re sitting comfortably. If you’re not, get comfortable. If you can’t get comfortable, then maybe you have bigger things to worry about than reading my tumblr post.
I finish school in a fortnight. It’s quite a big thing. I mean, it’s not the biggest thing, I’ll still be in education after the summer, but it’s pretty big.
It doesn’t really feel that different, which is why I’m so apathetic about the whole thing. We’re just told to work hard, so we can make it to the next step of life - in this case, that’s university, but in previous examples it’s been secondary school, or sixth form.
And just like last time, we’re told that it’ll be so much better once we get to the next step. That it’ll all be worth it.
Hey. Maybe it will. Here’s hoping, am I right?
Problem is, it hasn’t really been better in the past. And once we’re gone, we’re no longer their problem - so they really have no responsibility to tell the truth when they say things will be more enjoyable next year, or the year after, or the year after.
It’s not that I’m paranoid - I just feel like the last fifteen years have been spent in one long succession of waiting rooms.
You know the ones. Nice carpet, comfy sofas, some magazines or books to read on a fancy coffee table, whilst a smart receptionist takes calls in a voice you previously thought only a computer could produce. Those kinds of waiting rooms.
Very enjoyable to stay in, and, depending on why you’re there, you might even prefer to stay in their relative comfort and safety for a while. But eventually, you’ll want to get on to the reason you came, and hurry along to the appointment.
But you don’t. You just sit there. And wait. And wait. And wait.
Which is fine, if the appointment is worth it.
What if it isn’t?
Really, that’s what scares me. That the smart receptionist will finally call me through to whatever comes next… and there’ll just be another waiting room, with an even smarter receptionist. Maybe this one will splash the cash and supply some complimentary biscuits. Just enough to keep you satisfied for a bit longer, and before you know it you’ve spent another few years waiting instead of living.
So really, what I’m trying to say, if indeed I’ve managed to say anything at all (and honestly, well done to you for reading this far, let’s see how many people unfollow me for not putting a ‘read more’. You should really pat yourselves on the back, go on, you deserve it), is that I’m tired of sitting inside Life’s Waiting Room (I told you there were spoilers in the title).
And I’m scared that the last fifteen years haven’t just drained away a significant part of my morals, soul, and heart, but that they’ve also irrevocably stolen away part of my life, for nothing more than waiting.