things my brain eats sideways.

I walked in the rain all day and took photos. It felt amazing.

I met two interesting people at the coffeeshop yesterday. A Persian man, who was a doctor. And a professor at UCSD. We talked about meditation and philosophy and life.

The homeless man was gone so I kept checking. I finally gave him the juice I had carried around all day.

He said, “I love seeing your beautiful smiling face around here, sweetheart.”

I replied, “I love seeing yours, too. Believe it or not, I love seeing your face more than a whole lot of people’s faces I know.”

He laughed, and said he agreed.

Happy.

Soon, I will be a continuing student again. A San Diego Humane Society volunteer (cat companion), an applicant to grad/med school, a more than full-time worker
(started doing automation stuff/programming and will soon be doing antibody and drug discovery), a volunteer at Sharp Memorial (so excited), and so much more.

Do I have all the time for this? Maybe not. But I will make it.

I don’t know why you left her.

I hung out with the homeless man by CPK last night. He’s always on that corner.

“How is your day going today?”

“Oh, it’s ok sweetheart, how is yours?”

“It could be better. It might rain. If it does, I will come back and hang out with you..is that okay?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

The pedestrian light flickers. Ten seconds.

“Do you need anything?”

“Some juice would be great.”

He wanted juice. Fucking juice. And what do WE want? Everything. Here is a man that only wants some goddamn juice. We are so ungrateful.

“Ok. I will bring you juice.”

Zero seconds. I am in the middle of the street. Cars are anxious and angry.

What’s your name, sweetheart?

“Mona. It’s very nice to meet you. I will see you later.”

I run across and escape into my own world again, disappearing for a few hours.

When I come back late, he’s gone. I will be back tomorrow, and so will he. He always is.

Soon there will be only hints that we were here at all; a couple of forgotten water bottles lying on the ground, someone’s jacket crumpled beneath a tree. No traces of the cheers or the names called out loud. No lingering tension over who will win or lose.

they can keep you from leaving,
though they haven’t arrived
just the thought is enough
to keep you alive

it’s good to know when good things
it’s good to know when good things
it’s good to know when good things will
arrive

I woke up early, so I decided I might as well start our ‘writing’. I don’t know exactly what I meant for this to be, but I don’t think I want it to have any reservations either. What kind of writing would that be? I am up too early to decipher my own thoughts or writing, so I figured now would be a good time. Forgive me, dear friend, if it is not much or is like something you feel you must decode (let’s throw out the must). Maybe this word is in my head since we watched Zodiac and we were confused the whole time.


Sometimes I am sitting with just my legs crossed. Heart strings tied in a knot. If only without Stannius ligatures I could perhaps breathe for a day as unpurified water drips from my wet hair, collapsing and bickering against my shirt which already makes me cold enough as it is. I believe in you. But I also believe in Coffee and Belle and Sebastian. I believe in finding things without losing them and maybe there could be that one thing I will find and not lose. Even if I lose everything else and never find it again. Would I, or we be happy?

I wish they would take off their masks when they spoke to me. Not only is it harder to hear someone with a mask on, but I cannot really see what they are saying. I can only hear and even that is hard since my hearing is bad.

I have deprecated their comments enough and maybe it’s time to embrace acceptance even if I lose myself even more. But I just can’t, I think, as I grasp my hands around the withering pieces of my Clementine orange. Where am I going to be in a month? The images are haunting. Why must my problems leap from being simply austere to ornately decorated and overly florid? Why, I must ask again, is my brain?

Have a good day. I am glad to have you as a friend, Hector (Hello, Mr. Ramirez, hello). I appreciate you. See you later tonight.

Sincerely,

Mona

“Imagine this scene: three to four hundred people, strangers to each other, are told to pair up and ask their partner one single question, “What do you want?” over and over and over again. Could anything be simpler?

One innocent question and its answer. And yet, time after time, I have seen this group exercise evoke unexpectedly powerful feelings. Often, within minutes, the room rocks with emotion.

men and women— and these are by no means desperate or needy but successful, well-functioning, well-dressed people who glitter as they walk—are stirred to their depths. They call out to those who are forever lost—dead or absent parents, spouses, children, friends: “I want to see you again.” “I want your love.” “I want to know you’re proud of me.” “I want you to know I love you and how sorry I am I never told you.” “I want you back- I am so lonely.” “I want the childhood I never hand.” “I want to be healthy—to be young again. I want to be loved, to be respected. I want my life to mean something. I want to accomplish something. I want to matter, to be important, to be remembered.”

So much wanting. So much longing. And so much pain, so close to the surface, only minutes deep. Destiny pain. Existence pain. Pain that is always there, whirring continuously  just beneath the membrane of life. Pain that is all too easily accessible. Many things-  a simple group exercise, a few minutes of deep reflection, a wok of art, a sermon, a personal crisis, a loss—remind us that our deepest wants can never be fulfilled: our wants for youthm for a halt to aging, for the return of vanished ones, for eternal love, protection, significance, for immortality itself.

It is when these unattainable wants come to dominate our lives that we turn to family, friends, to religion—sometimes to psychotherapists.