I am being driven mad by the waiting.
The sluggish gears of the scholastic machine.
Waiting for the grey hand holding the "admitted" stamp to fall.
I busy myself with daily things but there is a mail box in the back of my mind, out across the lawn of my imagination and I look out my inner window several times a day to see if the little red marker has been put up by the postman of life.
A person could grow ill from the tension and frustation that waiting weedles out of them.
Finding it futile and stupid doesnt make it stop or any less maddening.
Waiting is and when it is done for something you really want but have no power over it is deadly and sapping to suffer under.
It is a dripping tap across the hall.
