a book of ordinary people

She tells me too bad that it is cloudy today, and i ask her how does she know it? she tells me she has looked out the window .." oh, windows yeah that..." i reply

I occasionally look out the windows when i am in between rounds, or lost in this intertwined maze of a hospital looking desperately for some poetry. I see my father walking in front of me feeling suffocated without any luck in finding poetry. It took me all these years to feel his pain, his love and hate for at the same time for his job. " I have everything that a man desires in this world and yet I am not happy, I don't know what it is that I want out of life. " He once told me when I was in my late teens and up until now I was not able to forgive him for saying that very sentence ...

"A" tells me we better get the hell out and go sit somewhere quiet so we can hear each other and I can exactly see what his job is all about. He finds couple of empty terminals and we sit in front of them and there we go , he starts quizzing me. It is the nature of the job you have to be suspicious of anything and anyone even the tiniest bacterias in the world. The guy next door has been moaning in pain non-stop since morning and everybody seems unaffected by it. "A" tells me that I can go and consult him if I am really curious, and laughs " I was only joking." That's his only flaw; he is too soft, too sweet , and too caring. I don't tell him that we all like working with "J," a bit more . "J" always has some surprise up his sleeve; at first he teases you, lets you down and makes you to fend for yourself. He makes you learn on your own , but watches you every step of the way. Maybe it is because "J," is old enough to be our father or maybe its that "J," is a big tease by nature . Unlike "A" he is not much into calculating the whole situation and factoring in people's feeling, he just likes to play the game. "J's" playful nature makes him a better teacher, maybe because it makes him more real than "A," or maybe it is just the Age..


The man in pain is still moaning, and everybody is doing their job. Me and "A" digress from learning into our lives, and talk for an hour . I like talking to him, he is not sarcastic and I do not have to be sarcastic when I am around him. He is a quiet guy by nature, and I have never been much of a talker either, and surprisingly there are no awkward moments of silence, but plenty of moments of mutual silence. Despite being quiet and calculative he has these little moments when all of a sudden he bursts into laughter and fesses up like : " That is why it is called a JOB, so you can hate it."And then goes back to teaching me more about his JOB, which will one day be my job. Or " The reason I went to school out of state was that my application for USC got delayed, well I got rejected." And then creatively ditches me so I can get out earlier and He can go online and surf the net continuing his furniture shopping.
I leave him and the man moaning in pain behind following my father who is still in desperate search of poetry in the hallways of hospitals and look out the windows.
I know that I have a choice to make here: I either have to become like "A," and live a rather normal life sans poetry , or get the hell out of hospitals and live with my current job which is practically a Shakespeare festival days in and out, or as my friend "S," told me the other day :" Learn to write your own poems anywhere in the world that you are....." All I know is that I did not turn out to be as much of a daydreamer that my father used to be. If I am good at anything it is at being able to untangle myself when i am stuck. I look out the window and know that i will never let this maze of intertwind hallways get into me , because the moment that you have let the poetry out of your life is the moment that you are dead....

Labels: ordinary stories, rotation diaries

I find myself staring at a bowl of cereal at 5:30 am trying to decided if I am able to eat any of it? I have to be at work by 6 am , and I know that the only thing that I can do right now is to go back to bed. I am feeling funny and the nagging headache does not leave me alone.
"It must be from yesterday," I tell myself. I had to rush back to school to drop off couple of stupid papers so that the school fascist administration, thats what I call them, does not pull me out of my rotations. It was hot out there I had to drive in the worst time of the day, and run around between buildings and yeah I got dehydrated. The whole dehydration thing is new to me, but has been happening a lot lately. So much that I have become Heat-o-phobic , the worst part is the debilitating headaches and my ever increasing hesitance to take any medication, ironic I know but you study them enough you begin to resent them as much as I do.
I head back to bed and wait until it becomes 6 am and I leave a message for people at work to let them know that I will not be coming, not that they care nor will be needing me. I am an extra body anyways, I have to call them to remind them that I do exist.
By 12:30 pm I drag myself out of the bed, eat something get into the car and drive myself to my parents house. At first I am hesitant to go, my mom might think that I got kicked out and get disappointed. I think that makes me a perfect Persian kid , between death and disappointing my mom I prefer the former rather than the later. I have no idea how do I do the drive, but I am at my parents doorstep some 45 minutes later. And tell my surprised mom that I did not go to work today and head to my room. Six hours later I get up and go to kitchen, my mom tells me that the dehydration should be the result of my low blood iron.
The other day I read somewhere : "In U.S you might live a better life than Iran, but you will die alone. In Iran you will never be left alone even in your death. " Good thing I brought My Iran with me to the U.S , my family does not leave me alone even in my death.
Other than the recurring dehydration episodes, life is lovely. There is a deep seated happiness inside of me these days, that has become a part of me even in the darkest of moments.
I have become a regular this European Cafe' that has really good salads and free wi-fi , and a patio. I go there and sometimes when my best friend is online I describe the other customers to her and we make up stories about their life. And from there I can walk to my favorite chocolatier in the world. I am going to buy their assorted handmade Artisan whatever chocolate box for my aunt. Whom I am going to see this coming August after so many year in yet one of my many adventures, I have bought two mascaras for my other aunt who will be there too and will not be caught dead without eye make up even after having two kids.
I am most likely going to skip the party tomorrow night, since "A" did not responded to my text message. I need a sober driver and all these years he has been the one who drives me to parties, buys me drinks and then sits in a corner and starts conversations with random strangers and tells them the story of his life. He has been having family issues or something like that lately and flat out ignores me. I am on the lookout for a new sober driver who can drive me around to parties and does not like to party himself.
Happiness is having a job which you like, guarantees you a good salary and not that many people are crazy about. It is the awesomely fresh salads at the European cafe' in downtown and the box of chocolate that you will buy for your aunt and know that she will have everybody indulge in it with her along with some tea. Happiness is the best friend that is there through it all. And the mother who will remind you that you will not be left alone even in your death. Happiness is the sober driver who will always stay one and nothing more...

Labels: ordinary stories, rotation diaries