I am exceedingly aware of how impatient I am. I can't wait to get back to the office before I open up whatever I had just bought for lunch. I cook everything on the highest heat my stove will let me, frequently setting off the fire alarm because the thought of spending 5 more minutes on something, feels like agony. I feel like I have to listen to an audiobook or podcast on my morning walks because otherwise, it's unproductive. I jump into doing without planning. I refused to update to the newest iOS system because I didn't want to waste time trying to figure out how widgets worked. I feel like quitting every time I don't get something right away. I know that life is more than that - that I should stop and smell the metaphorical (because my life truly lacks any form of romance) roses. That I can take a bath without having to bring my laptop in and at the least, wait until said bath has filled with water before stepping into it to avoid water damaging the speakers. That maybe hanging out with my friends won't take away from whatever work I have going on in the back of my mind. And probably most relevant to me - that I'd actually save time from having to make changes in the future if I took the time to get shit done properly in the first place. The worst part is the anger that comes with it. I get pissed off if someone doesn't reply immediately. I hate waiting at restaurants for that one friend that's always late. I feel myself growing in annoyance when I feel like someone is wasting my time, or I could be doing something alongside of a conversation. Jealous that other people can just sit and genuinely seem to be enjoying themselves. I reflect on my impatience so often that honestly, I might as well spend that time being the patient person that my soul is pleading me to be.