Anticipation

If anticipation is nine-tenths of delight, I would argue, it’s nine-tenths of terror, as well.

Like that feeling when your name was called over the intercom requesting your immediate presence in the principal’s office. 

Likewise, recall the feeling of dread upon hearing, “Just you wait until your father gets home!”

Very few periods of anticipation can compete with the interminable wait between the instant you note the flashing lights of a police car in the rear view mirror and the officer’s knock on your car’s window.

How about the anticipation that accompanies the dentist urging you to “open wide, this won’t hurt a bit.”?

Yes, anticipation can promise heaven or foreshadow hell. 

Tonight I might be speaking to a group of people that I’ve seen on only a handful of occasions over the past 40 years–yes, it’s time for our class reunion. I say “might” because I’m not a speaker and could end up simply staring in silent horror at my high school friends and their respective spouses and partners.

I keep telling myself the anticipation is the worst part. For everyone’s sake, I sincerely hope so.

  
Peace, people.

Author: nananoyz

I'm a semi-retired crazy person with one husband and two cats. View all posts by nananoyz