Just a Minute

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(prompt: 'easy' 10/5/2019)

"Why are we waiting?

This is constipating!"

The loud, cheerful voice ensures everyone within the doctors' waiting room knows this is the refrain of a young child. Much head-nodding agreement follows... and a few mutters, 'easy for her to say'. One friendly chap with a twinkle in his eye, leans forward, "That's why they call us patients, honey." She's too young; his comment goes over her head, but not the rest of the 'patient sufferers'. Despite whatever complaints have brought them here, a raised eyebrow or two, and more than a few tight, smirky-type grins ripple around the other waiters.

"Don'tcha hate this sitting, doing nothing time when you could be gardening?" The dirty fingernails on grizzled hands holding the dog-eared magazine are a dead giveaway. And others who know him and have shared the old Italian's specialty - vegetables - smile and tip their heads at him.

The lady alongside leans towards him so her shoulder gives him a fair nudge. "... or a nana-nap. Turn on the telly, throw a rug over me knees, and I'm off with the fairies, just like that!"

"Beats reading all the patient notices up there on the board. Four or five times I'd reckon I've done that." The tapping fingers on his knees clearly shows it wasn't easy for this one to be idle for long. His scuffed work boots and well-worn jeans are the hallmark of a farmer. No doubt he'd needed to interrupt something really important like ploughing, or fencing maybe.

Younger patients don't appear fazed, never lifting their heads from mobile phones from the second they sit down. Sometimes, even their name finally being called is not enough to break their concentration. "Excuse me, is that you?" is a common question designed to jolt them out of their reverie. 'Maybe technology does have its benefits after all,' one other less-patient soul mutters. And smiles are seen around the crowded waiting room.

Surrounded by folk who would rather be anywhere else, I think perhaps we writerly folk are amongst the luckiest. In the most mind-numbingly boring moments we can always think and ponder and dream. Maybe titles flit through our minds, or names for characters that have been eluding us or needed improvement. Out comes the trusty notepad and pencil (never forget that one - EVER) and a brief word or phrase can set the scene or even a whole concept for a newbie book. Suddenly the waiting takes on another persona altogether. Peripheral vision keeps an eye (and part of the brain) on the tiniest progress toward THE consultation, as great globs of inspiration transport creativity far from the madding crowd.

"I'm bored' is a useless thing to say.

I mean, you live in a great, big, vast world that you've seen none percent of.

Even the inside of your own mind is endless; it goes on forever, inwardly, do you

understand?

The fact that you're alive is amazing, so you don't get to say 'I'm bored."

- said Louis C.K (sometime, somewhere)

Once upon a very long time ago (yes I know you've all heard me say that, over and over... suck it up!), a local paper thought it quite reasonable to announce in large letters -

'MORE OLD BORES FOUND IN SOUTH EAST'

Ohh Hot Damn! Sprung again... whilst I was in the Creation Clinic!


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