Patience
Dana stopped by my office, a box of donuts in hand. We
traded our usual insults.
“Get dressed in the dark again?” she asked, gesturing at
what I was wearing.
“It’s never a good idea to cut your own hair,” I said,
tilting my head, pretending to wince as I looked at the top of her head.
Dana asked if I could talk to her brother.
“He married an immature, self-centered, drama queen a month
after they graduated high school. He’s been waiting patiently for twenty
miserable years for her to grow up.
Still thinks there’s a beautiful soul buried under all her evil.”
“Pathological patience,” I said. “It’s a killer.”
Dana nodded. “Here’s where you come in. He stopped taking an
antidepressant after two days because he wasn’t any better.”
“Two days? What happened to being patient?”
“Guess he used it all up on his wife. He won’t listen to me,
has no patience for family advice. He did agree to talk to someone else.”
I agreed to call him, thinking about how many of life’s
problems came from having too much or too little patience.
Today I hope to be patient, but not too patient.
Other works by Ken Montrose are available at:
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https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001K8MG0S
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