When Mid 20th Century Absurdist Theater Makes Perfect Sense

Wayyyyy back in my days as an English major, one of my favorite plays I was forcedto had the opportunity to study was Waiting for Godot. For the uninitiated: It’s pronounced “GUH-doe,” not “GO-DOT,” as I firmly believed for the first half of the semester before the class started discussing it. Anywho, Didi and Gogo are two friends who are anxiously awaiting the arrival of some dude named Godot. The whole play is about the act of waiting, which is a frustrating and futile act. I could go in to a full literary analysis at this point, but that’s not what this post is about. Besides, I’m too lazy to go study the play again. The whole reason I’m bringing it up here is because ever since my long-past days of believing the ability to write critical literary essays would get me somewhere in life (haha), Godot always leaps to mind whenever I am in a prolonged state of waiting.

I’ve had some “things” brewing lately. I haven’t written about them here yet because of my firmly-held belief that my blog might be read by someone who doesn’t actually know me in real life, and puttin’ ALL my bidness out there would screw up my chances of any of my plans ever coming to fruition. So instead I’ll just illustrate how screwed in the head I am. That’s not too, too personal, is it?

Let it suffice to say that there is something that I really, really want, and I’ve been jumping through lots of hoops to get it. I think I’m done with the hoop jumping, and now I’m waiting (and waiting [and waiting]) for the judges to hold up their scorecards. (The Olympics are on. Related metaphors cannot be avoided. Go USA!!)

Did you know that when you mix legitimate anticipation with anxiety disorder you get a head full of what-ifs that just won’t quit? Stupid brain.

There is a very good chance that I will be profoundly disappointed by the results of all my hoop-jumping. There is also a very good chance that I’ll be extremely happy. Does my mind linger on the optimism? Heck no!! My mind keeps conjuring up images of me getting the phone call that will shatter my hopes and then crying inconsolably. Then auctioning off all my belongings, odd sock by odd sock, just to delay the inevitable loss of everything I have ever worked for. Then trying to find a cardboard box big enough to house my little family. We’ll live in that box for a day or so until the cats shred it completely to pieces and the dog pees on its remains, then we’ll all have to lie down in the snow like the Little Matchstick Girl and let the warm glow of our unfulfilled dreams carry us off to heaven and OH MY GOD MY FAMILY WILL DIE OF HYPOTHERMIA IN THE MEAN STREETS OF CHESAPEAKE BEACH DURING A MIDSUMMER SNOWSTORM AND IT WILL BE ALL!! MY!! FAULT!!!!

Some people might say I have issues.
Moving right along...

To keep the panic attacks at bay, I keep trying to derail the negative-thought train with prayer, affirmation, and this here rambling blog post. I try to envision myself receiving good news and then going forth in my life as a happy camper, climbing new mountains and forging new streams. Or something like that. Let me tell ya? All this positive thinking is exhausting. It would be so much easier to let the anxiety take over. But in the end I think the effort will be worth it. If nothing else, it will keep me out of panic attack territory. Best case scenario, a positive result will manifest because I trust God to make it so.

Until the result comes in, I shall sit here like Didi and Gogo and continue the act of waiting – as I cling to my last shred of optimism with all 10 fingernails and half a broken tooth.
  

Or with suction-cup feet like this little guy.
Now that would be cool.