A few weeks ago I applied for a residency with the Albee Foundation. There was no application fee to apply, and there’s no cost to take the residency – participants just provide their own food, which I do anyway so . . . The residency takes place up at “The Barn” in Montauk, NY, and I hear a rumor – substantiated somewhat by their website – that Edward Albee delivers participants’ mail.
And now, application complete, I wait. Something about me loves waiting, sometimes. I don’t enjoy waiting for test results or for traffic, but when waiting involves writing, I am fine with it. I try to be diligent and check in on things I’ve submitted or applied to – an email or tasteful phone call a few weeks after submission – but mostly, I just enjoy waiting. If there are several of my things out in the world and I’m waiting to hear about them, I feel accomplished, like I’ve done something and it’s out of my hands. It’s when the rejection (or rare acceptance) letters come back that I get antsy – now I have to do something.
I think I trained myself into this habit when I was young. I am the opposite of a procrastinator – I’m obsessive about getting things done so that I don’t have to keep thinking about them. In high school, I would work on my homework and get it done before I let myself use the bathroom (it’s sick, I know) because then using the restroom was pleasurable, a sweet release. I used peeing as a reward. The same with food . . . these days if I have a major project to get done, I wait until I’m finished before I eat – there’s a prize at the end.
Plus, as many bloggers have said, I use my waiting time – at the chiropractor’s office, at long traffic lights – to read, and since reading is by far my favorite thing to do, waiting never seems so bad. In fact, I often try to get to places a little early with only a book in hand so that I HAVE to read for a bit.
So I sit and wait here, after a short phone call to the Albee Foundation, that tells me that the decision about my application will come late this week or early next. Limbo is lovely sometimes.
P.S. Look tomorrow for a review of The Secret Scroll by Ronald Cutler.