While I Wait.

I left work early today for a doctor's appointment, and to be honest with you I was pretty nervous about it; the last time I was this anxious about seeing a doctor was when I was a kid, even then I was a very private person and I hated exposing myself to people I didn't really know.

After I checked in with the receptionist, I surveyed the waiting area, deciding where I should sit, this shouldn't have been as difficult as I made it because the room was completely empty, usually if there are other people waiting, I try to sit farthest from the person whom I deem the most likely to talk to me because I despise making small talk. But this time, my indecisiveness came from the overall feel of the room. The space looked more like a living room than a waiting room, like one of those classic American style rooms you would see in a Pottery Barn catalog. The reception desk actually looked extremely out of place I decided after taking in the rustic bench that served as a coffee table which combined the look of distressed hardwood with handcrafted detail that made it the most fitting choice to accompany a plumb off white couch that was decorated with an assortment of pillows of various sizes, colors, and patterns. Two over sized leather chairs faced the sofa as if friends would gather around the bench table and catch up over wine and cheese. Then a little further away there was a single geometric patterned chair facing a window with a pedestal looking side table housing a bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers.

I decided on the seat by the window, only because the rest of the room made me feel awkward. Perhaps it was trying to make me feel like I was at home or in a very comfortable place so I would feel equally as content when I stepped into the doctor's office. I didn't want to let my guard down just yet. I always approach new situations with my shield poised and ready just in case I need to protect myself. So I sat in the chair by the window and looked out through the rain splattered window into the dreary streets of Seattle and I thought about how one week ago, my exposed skin was burning from the rays of sun that blasting from the picturesque blue sky as I buried my toes in the sand and grabbed fistfuls of the grainy substance feeling very comforted by the familiarity of it all.

I wrapped my already buttoned coat tighter around my neck and closed my eyes trying to remember the feeling of being out on that beach again, but the harder I thought, the less I could hold onto; and perhaps that is way I'm here today, or at least one of the reasons why I'm here. When I think back on it, it seems inevitable that I would end up on the couch of a psychiatrist whining about my life, lamenting the woes that is me, but I also know that I'm here because I have no other choice. It's my last chance at a normal life, so when I hear my name being called, I open my eyes, dig my hands in my pocket and cross my fingers, hoping that this will make the difference that I so desperately need.