can't wait.

I remember my dad lecturing me once because I said I couldn't wait for something. The scene is vivid in my mind. I was in the third grade, and my dad was dropping me off at school in the blue pickup. I said I couldn't wait for something (the end of the school year, field day, a holiday weekend, whatever nine-year-olds can't wait for), and my dad informed me that yes, I could wait. In fact, seeing as how I had no control over the laws of time, I would actually have to wait.

In case you are looking for a good way to squash a child's excitement, I recommend that one highly. Also, if you want to ruin a figure of speech for the rest of someone's life, such that every time they hear it or are tempted to say it, they hear your voice instead, this method works for that, too. I'm sure it will be only a matter of time before some poor innocent child tells me that they can't wait for something, and rather than seizing on the actual topic of the conversation, I'll go ahead and take the opportunity to mock their usage of a common phrase even though I understood perfectly well what they meant.

But now I am a grown-up and I can say anything I darn well please. I can say it on the INTERNET, where the WHOLE WORLD will read it.

Internet, I can't wait for Saturday. Internet, I know that I actually do possess the ability to wait and that I have no choice really but to wait. But, Internet, I'm trying to talk about Saturday, not patience or time-travel or whether it even makes sense to talk about the ability to do something that you have no choice but to do. Internet, I just don't think you're listening to me.

Friday night, my boyfriend will play the last show on his tour in Mobile, Alabama, a town that is impossible to say without sounding Southern. Mobile is approximately twelve hours from Raleigh as the Google flies. I would prefer that the band not even sleep that night, that instead they drive straight back home, but I will understand if they sleep until noon the next day and then drive home. I will not give them a wake-up call at 8 AM, not even if I happen to be up. No guarantees about noon, though.

There is a tiny shadow on my excitement: yet another tour. You may not be keeping count, but I am. He left at the beginning of March, to return at the beginning of May. He will leave again at the beginning of June, to return at the end of July. It's possible that there will be a third tour or even a fourth tour this year, which I can't even think about, as the second tour is enough to create despair in my heart. I'm so tired of touring, and I'm not the one sleeping in a smelly van and eating fast food every day. I have made an effort to make new friends and to not be lonely, but somehow I can be with a bunch of people and still only think about some dumb boy. It may be an illusion that this tour has been much harder for me than the previous two, but it's a very convincing one.

When I was in high school and only saw my sweetheart once a week, he would sometimes complain that I did not seem happy enough to see him. That bugged the heck out of me, because I did miss him, I was happy to see him, what did he expect me to do? Turn cartwheels at the sight of him, kiss the hem of his jeans, throw a ticker-tape parade? Geez! But in the last few weeks, I have felt much more sympathetic towards that teenaged boy from years ago, as fatigue or stress or whatever goes on in Idaho prevented my boyfriend from sounding happy enough to talk to me or miserable enough without me. Get a grip, woman.

Those are valid feelings (and I'm feelin' them, so whether they're valid or not is a silly point), but they can wait. I don't want to be the girlfriend who calls him up in Arizona to tell him that he's not missing me enough. Once he gets back, we'll likely have a Conversation about Feelings. The Conversation won't have any resolution or bring about any change in the situation but will reassure me and bolster my strength so I can make it another two months. That's all I need, just a re-up. In my saner, stronger, more sensible moments I believe in and support what he's doing.

Then there are those other moments when I want to call him up (yay cell phones!) and cry that I don't care about his dreams and years of hard work, why can't he be here? With me? And snuggling? Even as whatever not-crazy part of me remains in control, the whiny and selfish part lurks, threatening to ruin May with whispers of June and July. This part cruelly points out that while I lack the ability to control time, I've never known two months to have gone by as slowly as March and April. May promises to fly.

I must not let the thought of the second tour derail my excitement like a lecturing father. Because Saturday is almost here, the start of a whole month where I can actually be with my boyfriend. I will be able to see him, smell him, give him a haircut, kiss him right on his sweet crooked nose.

I'm sorry, Internet, I didn't mean to get so emotional. I really wanted to tell you about how I can't wait for Saturday and I'm gonna make a chocolate pie and how I'm kinda worried that the force of my reunion hug may knock us both down. That's what I wanted to talk about, but all this other stuff just sorta spilled out all over you, Internet. I'm alright, I promise. I'll be even better on Saturday.