I am not a particularly patient person. I never have been, and I have always known this and been OK with it. Yes, patience is a virtue, and yes, maybe I might not get myself into quite so many stupid situations if I didn’t insist on crashing through life without any real forethought, but I don’t care. Being patient is BORING. Really, really, joy-crushingly boring.
It’s one of many reasons why I’d be a rubbish doctor; I could never get my head around “wait and see”. I’d just stomp right in and throw drugs and steroids and surgery at absolutely everything, because I could not be arsed to wait for it to resolve on its own. And yeah, maybe my approach would be good with stuff like massive cancer, but not so much with a bit of a cold (in this scenario we are, of course, ignoring the fact that I am rubbish at science and would never even make it to med school in the first place. Let’s blame the patience).
And I know that Gary Barlow loves to tell people to have a little patience, and yeah, Gary Barlow is usually right about things. But in this case, I decided long ago not to listen to him. Because he is GARY FUCKING BARLOW. I actually can’t think of anything better than being Gary Barlow, with the success and the beard and lovely family and adoration and the years in the musical wilderness to put everything in perspective. If I were Gary Barlow, I’d sit around all day every day patiently waiting for everything to carry on being just a brilliant as it already is.
But I am not Gary Barlow. Or any other member of Take That, for that matter. I’m just a girl who does not like having to wait for things.
Which is why buying a house is proving to be the greatest test of all time. I knew it was going to take forever; I have seen other people buy houses. I have sat in the pub whilst they tell me about all the endless delays that have happened. I have heard about surveys doing funny things, and about solicitors losing key papers, and about chains and gazumping and badness.
I was kind of expecting that it would take forever. I had been preparing myself for it to take forever. I was trying to listen to Mr Barlow, and my Farthing Wood Friend, and my mother, and everyone else in the world who has ever told me to Have A Little Patience. And I’d been doing quite well.
But not today.
Today, you see, I am a great big mess of MAD IMPATIENCE. It’s been started by the survey; the lack of documentation on everything that might possibly be wrong with the house was what I had decided was holding the sale up. But now we have the survey back. And it’s told us everything that might be wrong. And I am irrationally, intensely angry with it.
STUPID SURVEY. How dare it tell me to get other people to look at things? How dare it cause more delays? Does it not know that I WANT MY HOUSE AND I WANT IT NOW? DOES IT NOT CARE AT ALL? Were it not for the fact that it’s a piece of paper and therefore does not have a face I would definitely punch it in the face. I’m actually a little tempted to draw a face on it just so I can punch that.
But I won’t. I’ll try and pay attention to Mr Barlow. I really, really need to pay attention to Mr Barlow.