Embedded within it is a sense of abiding, of biding one's time. I will heed this advice as I have no apparent alternative. My waiting is graceful. I hope that good fortune will come of this strangeness. There is an elusive subtlety in waiting that recedes in spaces measured by speed.
Pure speed is a measure, a fetish, an excess.
Any moment spent idle is waiting. Any moment spent waiting is idle, lost momentum, a sign of slowness. We apologise for being late, for making others wait. This is bad manners - 'good manners cost nothing' you know. The time spent waiting is an eternity.