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We sleep in a bit, just enough to put us behind all day. And when I stop to fuel the vehicle before we leave town, the bus is there, taking all the room at the pump and after I sit for a few minutes, waiting, I run for the mail instead. Then a stop at the school to drop off that thing I forgot to send yesterday with the foster son, and then the friend who spent the night is delivered to his house, and back to the gas station.

Fueled, finally, and on the road, finally.

It’s three boys and me, and by the time we get to the city it’s time for lunch. And then a search for school supplies, and try finding those a month and a half after school has started. There is still an hour to kill before foster son’s appointment, the reason we are in the city, so we drive through a fast food place for drinks, and my cell phone rings.

An apologetic social worker… she’s so sorry but the appointment has been cancelled but how are things going? We chat about the boy and his first week with us and the freaky temper tantrum he’d had the night before. I’m standing in the cold wind outside the vehicle, talking, while the children sip sugar inside.

All the waiting of the day, in stores and in queues and at gas stations, all because of the waiting for an appointment that never was.

It’s a waste, I think. The whole day wasted, waiting. I’m tired, driving home. I’m tired, eating supper and these words are waiting for me and I’m too tired, I think, to write them.

But the words are waiting, like the day, so I do.

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