Waiting.

The life of a human being who, like me, relies on other people, can be defined as being based on waiting. You normal people (it’s not that we don’t feel «normal», it’s the government that doesn’t want to consider us normal) can decide how to manage your time, how to organize your day based on personal or professional engagements, business lunches, dinners and travels with family and friends. You often tell me that time is never enough for you, as if you weren’t the one managing it… whatever.
I’ve been lucky enough – it seems like a century went by, but it’s been «only» 5 years – to be normal for half a Life. Yes, a half, like the first half of a soccer match. Now I’m in the locker room, like the good Caressa says, because the referee, Mr ALS from Wherever, sent me to drink some hot tea.
I really hope my coach, a certain God who’s been training me for just a couple of years, but seems to be a totally reliable guy, won’t send me out for good but will call me in again in the second half of the game, at least for 10 minutes.
For every insignificant thing you normal people can’t even fathom, we need to ask for help. The famous hair on the nose that not even Mastercard can push away is just one example of what happens to us. A simple itch becomes a melodrama. Considering my hyper sensitive skin, even a rolling tear seems like a fly walking on my face. It’s really uncomfortable, believe me. Poor cows…
And the tears aren’t the only problem. We need help to do stupid things like resting our arms upon the thighs instead of on the sides. I swear: skinny elbows, even if they rest on a soft bed, can hurt. By the way, this reminds me of the coded language I use with Aiste: hands up, hands down, which becomes even more complicated when I can’t reach the letters at the far end of the keyboard, something like «hassup hassdpwn». Not even a team counting Mata Hari, Sherlock Holmes, Columbo and Maigret would be able to crack the code.
Our days are made of waiting. We can refuse them, as did the flock with Jonathan (by the way, how many of you read this wonderful book? Hmmm… I only see the hands of people my age. Too bad: if I had a child, this would be the third book I’d made him read because it opens the mind), but our life would then be full of useless      
tragedies.
Or else we can accept them, make them a happy part of the day. I might sound rhetoric, repeating myself, but I believe that facing events, whatever they are, with a smile, would make them more acceptable.
Anyway, these are the small things. The big things I’m waiting for are others. I’m waiting for a honest medical research, free of lobbies’ influence, of political and economical interests, because we need a solid hope too, be it Stamina or Whatever Else, I don’t care. But this is not an expectation, it’s more of a utopia.
So then we pray God to have faith. To be able to face our fate with serenity, with joy. To wake up every morning thanking somebody up there, everybody choosing the divinity he prefers.
And if one day I woke up with my feet straight instead of crossed, if I didn’t have this muscular spasms that make me hard as stone, and if my thoughts could be expressed by voice instead of passing through my «beautiful eyes», if I could finally wake up surrounded by silence instead of this rhythmic pumping, if it was the most natural thing in the world for me to put my feet on the ground, walk to the bathroom to wash my teeth take a shower and think about the day to come and if I could go upstairs to get dressed in my closet that I haven’t seen in five years and then come back down to find Aiste smiling because she doesn’t have to plan my day but hers with breakfast ready and if I could go to work for my friend Andrea and I kissed her on the doorstep telling her «see ya tonight baby» and if I could drive the car that I haven’t driven in five years….
I feel a lot like Jack Kerouak, AKA Simone Martini, writing without punctuation…. Do you think I’m asking too much in asking to become normal again? What you just read isn’t what you do every morning (apart from kissing Aiste, of course)?
In Spanish, a language I love, to wait is «esperar», the same word used for «hope».
I wonder why I love so much este idioma.