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When I was young, I used to pray to God asking him why he created mosquitos. I never got an answer I liked.

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I stopped going to the dentist near me because she had L. Ron Hubbard books lining her bookshelves. She casually brought up Scientology with her metal toothpick in my mouth and said, “Anyone who is against Scientology is hiding something. Are you hiding anything?” 

I couldn’t respond because my mouth was wide open with her working in it. 

I haven’t been back to the dentist in years.

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Sometimes cats walk on keyboards and type random keys with their little cat paws and people keep the random assortment of letters and symbols in their e-mails saying things like “Whiskers wrote that. Teehee!” My cat, however, when he walks on the keyboard, he changes all the settings on the computer somehow so the screen is zoomed in too far or an electronic voice announces all your mouse movements like a sportscaster. I can’t even figure out what to google to fix it. 

Sometimes I pick him up and put him on the keyboard and say “Undo what you did.”

He never listens, just stares at me and smugly sits down licking his paws.

 

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Laura had a dream the other night that we owned a farm for orphans and puppies and the orphans and puppies would be delivered to us each day by the bus-full and we would give them all hugs and they’d understand that they were understood and then the orphans would play with the puppies, and the puppies would chase the orphans around the farm, hiding underneath hay bales and running across open fields. 

I asked her what happened after the puppies become full grown dogs and the orphans were ready for college.

She said she woke up before she got to that part.

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I woke up from a dream recently upset because the fox in the dream was acting far more cat like than dog like and I got upset questioning the science of it all.

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Sometimes, my dreams have the Ken Burns effect throughout. Those dreams are really boring. 

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I think I’m an adult now because I no longer buy whichever toilet paper is cheapest.

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I think I’m an adult now because when the kitchen sink got clogged, I was no longer afraid that if I called my landlord, he would ground me and send me to my room.

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I think I’m an adult now because kids now call me sir and mister, even if I’m doing something far less mature than they would even dare.

 

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so it goes.

It’s amazing what a few christmas lights and a brief moment of springtime can do.

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Pondering over…

Some nights, clarity seems so close.

These days, I’m pondering over small rooms, devotion, laceless shoes, dying daisies, laundry days, Germans, exercise, and how much time it takes to clear one’s head.

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So this is Sanieh.

And we’ll be leading a retreat this summer here :

… and I think you should come.

For more info, click HERE!

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Just Fall.

When it rains, I always picture the tree above the roof falling on the house. It doesn’t even need to be raining, really. I made my roommate switch rooms so it would be his bed crushed under the largest branch. He didn’t mind, slightly larger room, and when he shrugged and said okay, I wondered just how many quirks he’d put up with. I already had my bed on stilts because the plumbing was too noisy, but I may have been making that up, or how I liked to sleep with my door slightly open because closed doors, I told him, I felt were too exclusive. Again, he shrugged, and now has to make his morning coffee quietly as to not wake me.

He did like that I supplied to furniture and sometimes had a friend or two over he could hit on. And he would, theatrically so, often his arm around one, winking at another. THe right blend of insecurity and shelteredness was bound to fall. Watching him tell the same made up story about running with the bulls in Spain, his fashion sneakers still a brilliant red, I get reminded something my first girlfriend’s mother said the first time I came over. We were sixteen and I had just taken my driving test. We had dinner and talked about school or intramurals or jazz choir. Right as I left, right at the front door was closed behind me, I hear the mother say, “I’ll never understand why the prettiest girls always date the ugliest boys.”

I’m never exactly sure what my roommate does to make me think of that.

Maddie always saw through my roommate though. Maddie walked in beauty, was that Byron? She wasn’t beautiful, no, she was walked in it. She’d always bring fresh flowers and her wrap around skirts always fit impeccably well.

Maddie came over with scones she made and my roommate tried all his usual tricks which were met with Maddie’s uh-huhs and occasionally an unenthusiastic oh really? Wow… I liked watching her combat him.

I remember scurrying home in the rain, staring up at the tree above the house, stepping inside and having him ask me for Maddie’s number, or even her e-mail would do, he told me. I gave it, thinking her reaction to his pursuit would be entertaining if nothing else.

And then a week later, seeing her fight off tears in our kitchen after I saw her use his toothbrush the night before.

Willing it to rain, or else I’d cut that damn branch down myself.

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