April 1996

What do I want out of life? When will I settle down in one place? It is a beautiful night. The moon is bright, though not yet full. I'm alone in the house and feeling a bit lonely. Wish I knew where it is that I'm supposed to be. I find a strange sense of liberation in blowing off my responsibilities. Why?

Sometimes I feel like unscrewing my head from my body just so I could breathe!

I still make wishes, feeling I'm not articulate enough, educated enough, experienced enough, as a writer and as a person.
I'm somewhere between losing my faith in the world and understanding and developing a stronger one. I'm shedding emotional skin and it's tough. Time has come to move on emotionally. I feel it. Something urges me onward.

No matter where I am sooner or later I corner myself in despair. Why? I fear so many things so much of the time. Chicago still beckons but other voices warn against a move backward. Exhausted from living in uncertainty. I wish I knew what is next and ahead. Do I refuse to believe that life screws up its denizens? I need direction, revelation.

God, my parents believe so much in you. Can't you give them more than misery? I really resent you for this. Those poor people. Is death a reward for man? Or a lie? I'm so sad for them and for Iran where my childhood was fantastic.

What shall I bore you with tonight? Robert, Eric, and I hung out at the park, drank beers, and exchanged work stories. The beer made us want pot, so we went to Jay's. Who ever thought we'd end up smoking heroin? We sure didn't. Eric and I spent the day wondering how the impossible can easily become real and over with. We only took a few hits, it was a one-time deal and will never happen again. The comedy began fifteen minutes after we'd smoked. Eric started burping. I turned to the others and asked, 'Are those good burps or bad burps?' From Eric's glazed expression it was evident that these were a foreshadowing of something ugly. I made him stand up and asked him to come outside with me to get some air. But all Eric did was freefall backwards into the beanie chair he had been sitting in. This scared me and Robert and we thought, Oh, God, Eric's dead! 'Great! Where are we going to dump the body?' I joked as I always do at uncertain times. Needless to say, Eric lived and I was able to get him to go outside with me. I stayed with him and coached him through a frustrating ten minutes. 'Don't pass out. You're fine. I've been there before,' I urged Eric. He kept giving up, falling. I was getting angry. 'Don't fall!' We breathed together in unison, deep, long breaths. I tried to get him to drink water, he wouldn't take more than two sips. I tried to feed him. He would not eat. I tried to make him laugh, 'Remember Eric, that is up, this is down. Gravity is something we deal with every day. You can do it!' I know Eric, he is sensible. And this seemed to put things into perspective for him. From that point on he was fine, though not enough to drive of course. I ended up driving his truck home, stick shift. Besides stalling twice I came to a stop sign where a police car watched me make a complete stop and resume into the most difficult gear- the first gear. We made it home alright. But to see Eric so uncharacteristically out of control was very unnerving. He is a law student, for crying out loud. We were dumb, yes, but we had a bonding experience we'll remember for the rest of our lives. Eric thanked me today for helping him through. I asked him how his speech went in class. And just the night before he had lay on Jay's front lawn on his back, fading, I begging him playfully, 'You can't die! You have a speech due tomorrow…'

Reading reminds me of Chicago and my friends there. They feel so immediate tonight. I can smell their clothes even now. It's as if I am walking on Marcelo's hardwood floor. I miss living in a city. So many people and places occupy my memories.
Went to a rave in San Francisco a few nights ago. Did E. In the morning a bunch of us went to the ocean. I fell in love. It was like a dream. The waves. The sand. It had been years since I'd been so close to the ocean's edge.
It's time to grow up. But what does that mean?

Mmm, the scent of cinnamon rises from my latte. Others' conversations glide easily by. Dice! A Chicagoesque wind blows outside. On the drive here I realized that dad's alcoholism became mine, and now mom's fears have become my own. She lives with a feeling of doom. It all makes me wonder what it will be like when I am truly on my own. Maybe that's why I am so unwilling to move on, because I'd be lost without the grief I have learned from my parents. Doom! What a word. Have you ever felt it? I know, just saying the word out loud is tragic enough.
I'm taking a screenwriting class. So what if my screenplay isn't womb-original? I'm still going to write it.
I need to lose this magnifying glass of mine with which I live and see things. Soon!

Woke up to Brandon's call. His wild stories leave me longing to return. I'm still undecided. I smile at how close he and I are, how connected.
Always talking myself out of anger. I ask for signs from God.