on patience

impatient, i dance across the hard wood floor, wanting the panel to be filled. i am restless, my mind is moving faster than my hands, and there is no keeping up with it. it is up and out the door, skipping down the stairs and up the other ones before my hands have even noticed. i am not good at the sitting still, at the keeping calm at the making do. i am not good at not wanting more, though not all of it would fit in this time and this place if i pushed it. the carriage over crowded, something would give.