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22:19 - April 18, 2002 'You know, once I smoked some weed and then took a shower,' he said. My eyes popped wide open. Timothy? Smoking? 'I was like, the water is needles, the needles are painful. And then I thought I was going to throw up. But when I opened the toilet, I didn't throw up. I was paranoid. I liked it, but I didn't like the paranoia.' 'It makes my heart feel weird,' I said, tentatively, wondering if it was going to be a lecture. 'To you, too?' he asked, his eyebrows going up. 'Nobody I knew ever complained about that.' I was laughing, I was convulsing; Timothy, high, the very idea. At some point before that he told me this wild story about picking up a hitchhiker and driving him to Joliet and having his life threatened and taking him to get baptized and getting kicked out of two churches and a truck stop for having this dirty hitchhiker with them, and eventually bringing him home and his family giving him their blessings, and this woman the very same day who got into his car, and they all had pneumonia, or something. I don't remember, except that it all had to do with Jesus sending him on missions. I was enraptured. He's a great storyteller, and completely insane. Two hours back there among the dust and rosin listening to Timothy and watching him jump around on the dirty rug, doing voice impersonations and dancing and flailing his arms about. I kept thinking about him being a grandfather someday, and sitting his grandchildren on his bouncing knee, and telling them stories about the 'olden days' with a twinkle in his eye. I told him and he agreed. Usually I leave his office somber, deep in thought. Today I left it laughing, singing the Chili Peppers down the hallway. There could be a friendship here. ---
'Joan of Arc reincarnated
Maybe we could be related
So much blood to circulate
And so much space to decorate.'
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