Nothing

Nothing, but nothing quenches your thirst

You're consumed by a desire to love

To be loved, to have love

You're like a desert parched & cracked 

Waiting waiting for rain that never comes

That may never come may never come

You laugh, you cry and cry and cry

You're never happy but for a moment

Others may be happy & content with things

Things have no meaning for you

How can your desert bloom with a mere rain drop

You need a river you need a storm 

Love to you is air we breath

I see life being drained from you

How can you live without air    

Your heart is restless from yearning 

You go everywhere searching for love

In your eyes I see pain, envy and rage

And you don't know why, why you can't be loved.

Disapontment

I was coming home from a Christmas party I took my daughter to. While she was changing radio stations trying to find her favorite Hip-Hop music I couldn't help thinking about the party. It was a party organized by some good hearted community ladies for Armenian disabled children & adults. I had never been to one before.  She has always been going to main stream American organizations for the disabled. I didn't know there was such a large community of disabled Armenians. One of my sisters had found out about this from a TV program & gave me the information. I was very exited about this, I thought my daughter might find some friends & I could get to know some of the parents, we could exchange phone numbers & have fun get togethers for our kids.  My daughter was exited too, she had been asking every day when the party was. We made hair & eyebrow appointment so she could look her best. Lately her favorite color is black so she dressed head to toe in black & with her newly bleached blond hair she looked very cool. I took another one of my sisters (I have seven) for moral support, I did not want to be alone where I didn't know anyone else. As soon as we entered my daughter was given a gift bag & once we were at our table she couldn't wait to open it. There was a picture frame, an ugly brown scarf, some makeup & a CD. She wasn't impressed by any of it. There was already music playing & some people were dancing. Some in groups, some as couples & some with no one in particular. My daughter started complaining, that this was not fun, she didn't like the music, she didn't know anyone. I tried to keep her busy with food & a promise of a big surprise. I offered to dance with her but she didn't budge. I kept looking around wanting to get a sense of it all. There were a lot of down syndrome people some young & some very old. Not too many physically challenged but mental retardation & developmentally delayed persons. My husband didn't come with me he never does because he says it makes him sad. I was surprised to see so many other dads. Most parents were middle aged or older. They all seemed to have the same kinds of expressions. Just by looking at them I understood every feeling they were going through. Some looked relieved to be in the company of so many other parents with a disabled child. Some looked uncomfortable almost apologetic as if to say it wasn't their fault that they had a damaged child. It seemed some had the same types of hopes of finding companions for their kids, looking around  sizing everybody. Most seemed resigned to their & their kids faith, no more hope of anything good happening, no more waiting for improvement. That look of frozen pain & disappointment was the most haunting. My daughter was disappointed too. She probably was expecting a regular normal people's party with good looking girls & boys & rocking up-to-date dance music. Instead it was like so many other holiday parties she had been before, where it seems everyone is doing you a favor by giving you a party that seems a poor imitation of the real thing. I can never help but feel that the people organizing & volunteering for these functions with all their good intentions, do them out of pity, they go through the motions & can't wait for it to be over so they can go back to their normal kids with normal lives. Finally my daughter said she wanted to dance & I took  her to the dance floor. Normally she loves to dance but today her heart wasn't in it. Even when the big surprise came, it was a real singer performer with a real band & pounding blaring music she did not feel better. She said she did not feel good, that she didn't feel like herself & wanted to go home. I asked her several times if she was sure & she said yes. We left. As always I was sad for her, I know she was disappointed but there was nothing I could do. I knew exactly how she felt.           

Most Inspired Time of Day

My most inspired time of the day is mornings. That's when I'm driving to work. I'm freshly showered, dressed in my business "uniform", full makeup on & buzzed with caffeine. My radio is on NPR with a mix of news, traffic, weather & amusing stories about people, things & places. I assume that all the other drivers are also on their way to work & that makes me feel like such a productive citizen. Never mind that some are probably going to LAX to pick up their mother-in law or a friend, one may be going to a hearing  for embezzlement & so on & so forth. Usually it's a crisp bright day & the sky is so blue. Every morning the day seems full of promise. I feel creative, energized; like I could do anything. I listen to a story about micro loans, for woman in developing countries to start a business so their family won't starve. I listen to an American female journalist who had gone to Afghanistan to cover the war & stayed & founded a non-profit organization to aid in rebuilding the country. A teacher in China is teaching grade school children about environmental pollutants so they can save the yellow river. There are thousands upon thousands of people who do incredible deeds every day, some against great odds. I try to think of things I could do, anything to make a positive impact. I think I want to volunteer in battered woman's shelters, or become a teacher & work in inner city schools. I'm worried about our youth in general, their involvement with gangs & drugs, the low quality education they are getting and the alarming frequency of mass shootings by depressed teens. Then there is my yearning to write, I think I can write lyrics that are powerful, tender & honest. I want to do short stories about woman, their fascinating inner self & the violence that is being committed against them every day every where.

Then, I arrive to work. I park my car at lower  p4 in the underground parking on the same spot. I take 2 elevators to get to my office. The office is nice & clean & I have everything I need. But I have no window to the outside. By this time I have already become like a well programed robot. I unlock everything, turn my computer on, check voicemail, check email, get reports, make calls, get calls & on & on & on. Hunger & thirst don't bother me neither does a full bladder. The only thing that stops me is my nicotine craving that starts to nag after about 4 hours. By the time 6:300 rolls around I feel drained, defeated & hopeless. Now I'm not creative, energized nor do I feel I could do anything. I have forgotten all the inspiration's that I had in the morning. I drive home through the dark freeways like a crazed zombie fleeing my prison my dungeon & my robot self. By the way everybody else is driving I can tell they feel the same way I do.         

While Driving

Whenever I'm driving on the freeway I have these thoughts going through my mind. For instance, there are people who should not be driving , period. They my be able to ride a donkey & then graduate to a bicycle. Then there are people who need more driver's Ed. training. They don't know how to enter the freeway, how to change lanes or exit. They don't gain speed on the on-ramp so when they reach the freeway they are still driving 45 MPH, so all the drivers on the far right lane have to break & slow down. When they want to change lanes instead of accelerating they slow down & some idiots even stop & signal. When they want to exit they slow down one mile before their exit. Then there are the show offs. They have a brand new car without the license plate (usually a small car, the lowest model of the make), they drive faster than me (above 80) weave through the lanes & if they have to slow down because of a jamm they tailgate. The ones I really hate are the Corvette drivers. No matter what time of day, they have their small lights on & drive v e r y  

s l o w & keep a lot of space between them & the car in front. It's like they are a peacock saying make way everybody here I come & aren't I special. Meanwhile I'm driving my old 2000 Camry with one hubcap missing, a bad paint job, with dents & scatches all over & it hasn't been washed since 1999, with my custom plate that non-Armenians read 

"R-mine' (Armine) they are probably thinking some of the same things about me. But I don't give a fart, I just want to get from point A to point B, until that is I have money & I can buy a low model BMW. Share your driving thoughts if you like.