ideas that by morning have left the room

I am not a patient person.

This would come as no surprise to most people who know me well. Or even partially well.  The split personality of my brain means therefore, that if you don’t know me well, you might be given the wrong impression that I am indeed patient. At least a  little. I pretend well. It was one of my first lessons under the tutelage of the Sisters of No Mercy. Deceit as survival.

If I think of something I like to start action.  Much preparation, much haranguing of others if need be. Maturity has lessened the energy spurt and brought on a degree of  lethargy, but the activity of swirling thoughts and ideas and plans in my brain still happens. This lack of energy is not equaled by any pseudo-patience though, it creates whirls of anxiety and frustration and anger.  However, the spurt often melts away to emptiness and inertia .  Impatience can keep me up at night by the ideas that by morning have left the room.

It is a tough lesson to learn to be patient. Is it an art, a science,  a gift?  My body has tried to impart  the lesson to me a few times but  my human condition being as it is,  has seen me soon return to old ways. Motherhood should teach one patience, all those long gestational months, and the long years of child rearing, but looking back it all seems to have passed in the flicker of an eye lid, and the lesson is no closer to being learned.

Will I learn it along with aging? I think not.  Aging may slow my brain and slow my body, but the needs and wants will still be there.  I hope.

 I am yet to be convinced that patience is indeed a virtue.  Does patience not often harbor injustice and feed domination and inequality?  Doesn’t patience just maintain the status quo? Without a sense of urgency would anyone ever act to right any wrong? Would anyone have ever scaled to the mountain top?