'Will you be much longer with the dinner?' I asked The Mother yesterday. 'Wait now and be patient' said The Mother so I sat there at the table and waited. Something occurred to me as I waited, an idea like, and I put it to The Mother. 'The Mother' I said, addressing her by her full title, 'it has just struck me that waiting could be defined as the distance between desire and fulfilment'. I went on to explain to her that a man who desires a meal has to wait for that meal to be made before he can feel fulfilled, therefore the wait is merely the temporal distance between desire and fulfilment (see fig 1.1).
Taking to my topic, I continued to explain to The Mother how desire should be foreseen by those whose job it is to fulfil desire, thus wiping out the very existence of waiting. I put it to The Mother that had she predicted my hunger (and God knows, it isn't an impossible forecast to make as I'm usually sat at the table giving her an expectant stare come 5pm) she could have eliminated the distance between my desire and my fulfilment entirely. 'Just think,' I said, 'by having the dinner ready the moment I sat down you, my mammy, would have been the vanguard of a new paradigm, the pioneer of an age where desire is fulfilled the very moment it is conceived.' I told The Mother that if she were to adopt a more punctual approach re: mealtimes it might serve as a prototype for an era in which humankind fulfills all desires at the speed of thought. 'We would be like Gods Mammy', I said to the Mother. The only thing that separates our species from this evolutionary leap to omnipotence is the wait caused by tardy mammies and the like. I told The Mother that the abolition of waiting should be number one on humanity's 'to do' list. 'And no dilly dallying' I added for emphasis. I concluded by telling The Mother that she could start to bring our species a step closer to Godhood tomorrow by having the dinner on the table at 5pm sharp.
Well, guess what happens then? Doesn't The Mother turn to me and say: 'I like waiting. Waiting can be good. Take suspense, the required ingredient for all good thrillers. Suspense is a wait of sorts. Abolish that and you abolish Midsomer Murders and where would I be without my Midsomer Murders?'. The Mother then continued to explain, like some domesticated Bertrand Russell if you please, that our species was not yet mature enough to become Gods - capable of instant gratification. 'Most people don't even drive responsibly' said The Mother (a snide reference to my habit of taking the car to the pub I have no doubt). I could see she had a point but unfortunately my belly was rumbling and I had lost the mood for rational debate. 'Well, you're a fine one to talk about responsibility,' I bellowed, 'when you won't even take responsibility for the bloody dinner'. I continued to shout for sometime but was so incensed and caught up in the moment that I can't rightly recall all that was said. I can only assert with any degree of confidence that I continued to berate The Mother for her slipshod attitude and may have mentioned something about not asking to be born.
The discussion ended upon The Mother's realisation of just how strongly I felt about the topic. She quietly returned to the stove and I resumed my wait, realising, as I sat there, that I had actually lessened the malign experience of waiting and contributed to its obsolescence by raising my voice and loudly expressing my desire to be fulfilled 'this instant'. (I also recall using the very words 'this instant'). Let me tell you, The Mother certainly had the dinner ready on time today. I rest my case.