patience and secrets

i’ve always considered myself a patient person, until that is, my dad called me out on being impatient. i realized it’s true. he’s right. some of the time. i need more data on when/why/how i’m patient vs. not, but what i do know for certain is that it’s an odd thing to have something you’d always thought to be true about yourself be challenged.

i went to type an email at work asking for some promised data, but hearing my dad’s voice echo in my head, i deleted the email and waited for my coworker to email me on his time schedule, not mine.

(is my patience all about what i can and can’t control?) (like traffic and other people and traveling?)

i love secret conversations with family about travel, birthdays, and surprises.

the four numbers were supposed to add up to 100. mine = 98. twice. i pulled out my iphone calculator and mumbled once or twice as the figures i punched in were wildly off. he pulled the paper from my hands and hunched over the figures while our teacher rattled on about the next/current assignment. i pulled the papers he’d need for this next portion out of his binder while he continued to calculate. he whispered that he found a difference in one of the four categories. we burst out in hushed giggles as i pointed out that meant the total was now 97. secret math conversations with me never add up correctly.

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