waiting for love

I sometimes think I spend all my life around men, just waiting. waiting for them to do something, or stop doing something, or look up, or pay attention, or give a damn about something besides their own interpretation of reality...

Early on I am waiting for them to make a move, and ask for what they want. Then I wait for them to prove they are worthy. Then I wait for them realize what they have... I wait for them to hear my words when they see my lips move and my breasts heave. I wait for the waves of fear, or dread or intimidation to pass as they realize I might be hard to please. -or far to easy to please. Because once I actually make up my mind, change course, or set a course of action, I know what I want. And I am waiting for the man to believe me, catch up, or make the same discovery.

-with this sort of attitude probably comes off as condescending, snobby, aloof, or flippant. I may sound annoyed or even like a man hater... but I love men. I love everything about them. Even though I am very impatient with the neurological differences, in the ways our brains work, to prioritize information.

I can wait hours, days or weeks for some of them to come to the same conclusions I did in several minutes about a particular set of circumstances or the dependability of a new person. I am intuitive and just KNOW things sometimes. so I wait.

but sometimes the waiting is set aside when they demand or claim my attention or presence; or assistance, then I spring into action, no more the lazy seeming tiger swishing her tail, sometimes my body can move as quickly as my mind...

then, I pounce, revel, feast, succumb, until it is time to wait again. wait for recognition, or wait until I get bored with being under appreciated, or made to feel unimportant. and then I stop waiting at all, and I just move on, to try again.