the waiting room

i woke at 5:30am from a dream of a waiting room that was not the waiting room for what i once waited for. in the waiting room was: one long brown table, no windows, and a single wooden chair. on top of the table was my wallet, and although i did not remember losing it, i was grateful to find it. the cash was still there, the quote from Martha Graham was taped inside, and i left the room out into the pouring rain, knowing that the waiting was over. but this waiting room was not that waiting room, and herein lies the point:

i once waited for that waiting room at 6am on cold December mornings with a full bladder and a broken leather jacket with the seams falling apart. i once waited for that waiting room wearing a toboggan (see definition #3) and driving a half ton dump truck, impatiently waiting for the heater to kick in. i once waited for that waiting room with a woman i met on a cold night in north Florida, when i tried to escape my dharma.