Waiting

I feel as though my life thus far has only been a preparing, a laying out of instruments, sterilizing scalpels and stethoscopes and lathering my chapped and waiting hands in the sudsy water of the maybe while the world pins me onto its surface and time bends to enfold us mere mortals. And I hope that these gatherings, the collections of facts and figures, my acquired, though feeble movements, will be used.