October 1995

Patience is a powerful thing. Patient is a powerful way to be. Mmm, the feeling.
Lena's in town visiting her relatives and I met up with her on her brother's farm. I met three of the sweetest Assyrian girls. Their ages range from ten to sixteen and I'm worried about them because they have just moved to the States from Iran and do not speak the language, yet! How awful school will be for them, at first. I remember. The fear, the culture shock. God, please give them the strength to deal with the unnecessary pain spoiled and ungrateful American children will inflict upon them.
The girls were so charming and pure- I realized where I come from.

Dad was in the hospital. When he got out he was robbed. I am so sad for him. Lena's back in Chicago, her trip cut short because of dad's misfortunes.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to Iran and see the places where I was a child. I keep thinking everyone's still there and the same. But most are dead.
Nothing about life is glamorous.
When I pause I realize that I have always just been holding on. Isn't there more?
I need to breathe, relax, chill out.

Mom's in her own world, which is far, far away from mine.
I went to The Brave Bull, Modesto's gay bar, with Vickie, my dyke manager. We played pool and had a couple beers. I met a Jim there with whom I went to eat. Afterwards, we sat in a parked car and talked. Nothing happened. Neither of us wanted it.

I have talked myself into calmness. Mom and I are getting along famously.
Brandon called. I miss it. It was all so foolishly romantic.
Leaves are changing color. Autumn is a nice time. Sometimes I wonder if the stresses of life are due to the time we live in or the country.