but she’s wrong

My friend is out of rehab. Love love love. Love love love. I still need to have a phone date with him. I’ve been working twelve hour days and we keep missing each other. You know that Cat Power song “Hate.” Her live version, this is for him:

* * *

Remember that sadhana? That personal practice? I fell off the bandwagon. Made it 19 days doing the same thing and now I guess I have to start over, do my best to make it to 40.

I want to immerse myself in yoga. I have to change much in my life in order for the immersion to take place.

The hardest part is making the end happen. The hardest part is waiting for your body and mind to catch up with what the witness wants.

* * *

He drove her home, to her mother’s house, and she asked if he could pull over so they could make out. As he looked for a place to park, they passed an elementary school, her elementary school from a long time ago.

She looked out the passenger window and she remembered an afternoon her father picked her up, an afternoon Andy Sweet told her he’d bring her a book, any book, which book did she want. The elementary was empty, it was dark, it was years ago and she was back here.

“I didn’t think I’d be back here,” she said slowly. “But here I am.” She spoke aloud to stop remembering.

The man who drove her was young, a man with plans, so many plans. She came back here, to Los Angeles, because she had no where else to go, and he came here because he wanted to make things happen, he wanted to write for a TV show, one day. He knew what he wanted or as she would say, He thought he knew what he wanted.

When she sat across from him, she looked at the dark circles underneath his eyes, his bloodshot eyes.

Just before they entered the car, she asked, Do you think you’re going to burn out?

* * *
Last night I dreamt of mountains and a journey and a crow on a telephone pole.

I’m not like you, she said. I’m not open like you are.

But she’s wrong. There’s so much more I could say, there’s so much that goes unsaid.

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