Monotony

Do you ever get to a point when reading a book where you decide to just skip ahead a few pages... pages it seems like the author should have just left out all together? One moment things are exploding and bad guys are being chased and amazing earth shattering sex is occurring... and then suddenly the author is describing the view of the sunset and the taste of steaming coffee on the balcony on a blustery winter Tuesday. "Get to the good stuff!" you yell, as you toss the book aside, bored by the monotony. 

I feel like that is where I am in my life. My days come and go, with narrative about the happenings around me and nothing more. I wake and admire the sounds of the birds and the scampering of the bunnies on my morning jog.. I go to work and complain about the annoying tendencies of coworkers and the moaning sound of the coffee maker... I sit on my couch and watch the hummingbirds feed in the evenings while I eat frozen dinners in my underwear. The world is spinning around me but my life feels as if it has halted. Perhaps I've seen too many movies or have a distorted view of reality but it seems that this is the point in my existence where love should happen; life should happen. 

Why cant I be that girl that answers a wrong-number phone call, only to end up chatting up the stranger on the other line and falling head over heels? When will it be my turn to turn the corner and ram my buggy into a cute and eligible bachelor in the cookie aisle of the grocery store? If nothing else, I feel like this is the part of the story where I should have committed a heinous crime and am contemplating where to run to and what to name myself. None of that is happening. After spending over a decade of my life with someone with whom reality television and chicken fingers was our greatest common denominator, I am ready for the life I deserve. I should be having drinks after work at a rooftop bar or gathering around the grill on the weekend with the love of my life and all of our friends. I want to be the cute couple that rents a beach house with our other pairs of acquaintances and gets together for doggy play-dates at the local park. 

It feels as if once the scene is set for something exciting and interesting to happen, the author starts scribbling out words and eventually balls up the page, tossing it into the nearby wastebasket. While I understand the need for character and theme development, which are imperative to a good story, I cant help but to yell "Get to the good stuff!" with every passing day.