Waiting for Godot achieved a theoretical impossibility — a play in which nothing happens and yet which keeps audiences glued to their seats.
My waiting for a buyer has become a theoretical impossibility as well: nothing happens and yet I keep wondering when I will go from here.
Not that I am certain at all where I would go or indeed if I still want to go. I was pretty certain some years ago when I received the first offer which was stuffed up by the agent, and a second which seemed as good as money in the bank before the buyer overplayed his hand - see here.
Back then it had seemed quite clear to me: I'd buy a small pied-à-terre in Australia's tropical North - Cairns, Kuranda, Port Douglas - where I'd spend part of the year when I wasn't travelling or living in Kalimantan.
As I keep growing older - which I do annually, almost as a matter of routine - , I keep looking at my remaining options. "Do nothing!" had never been acceptable before I accumulated age and possessions but it is becoming more likely now, although no more acceptable.
At the end of Act I in Waiting for Godot, Estragon asks Vladimir, "Well, shall we go?", to which Vladimir replies, "Yes, let's go", and yet they do not move.
At the end of Act II it is Vladimir who asks Estragon, "Well, shall we go?", to which Estragon replies, "Yes, let' go", but again they do not move.
Why? Because Godot will be there tomorrow.
Is watching Waiting for Godot just a long, hard, hilarious, absurd, ridiculous, depressing, and thought-provoking look in the mirror?
