Yesterday, I posted final grades for student review. Tomorrow, I will officially submit them to records. Today, I wait for the pleading emails.

I have received only one. It was the classic confusion between 5 points and 5 percentage points—they think they are 5 points from the next grade, but they are actually 50 points away—5%—a full half-letter grade. Still, I can be swayed.

Last night, for just a second, I forgot the semester was done and I felt that familiar sense of UGH as the muscle memory of getting ready for class swept through me. At 7:55 this morning, the alarm on my phone sounded for a class I do not have to teach. After I deliver my kid to school, I do not have to go anywhere or do anything.

Just wait.

It’s a strange feeling, and I am not sure if it is worrisome or enviable. Am I concerned that I have no pressing obligations or should I be proud of it?

What does just waiting feel like?

I know what sitting in the car waiting for traffic to move feels like. And I know what lying in bed watching the clock waiting for sleep feels like.

I know the dread of waiting for test results and the anticipation of waiting for a package to arrive.

But it’s hard to understand what it feels like to stand still, be patient, and wait for the next thing to start. The next thing—I wanted to write the next act or the next scene (thing is so vague), but I don’t know if I am waiting for a costume change or a set change or if I am supposed to move to another theatre.

This morning, I journaled about journal questions—I started thinking about what I need to ask myself as I stand (in wait) in the space of Mercedonius (it’s day iv).

What are you waiting for?

I am not sure—something to catch up with me or something to slow down for me.

What can you do while you are waiting?

I don’t know—make space for it?

How do you know you are making the right space?

I can’t answer that last question now. Perhaps tomorrow.