I think too much to participate in life.Walking down Van Ness Street today it finally struck me: I live in San Francisco. My two year annivarsery is coming up in August and it's taken that long for this to feel real. I thought about my first couple of months in SF. How I didn't know anyone. How the loneliness I have felt my whole life never felt as deep as it did when I came to live in the City. How I used to wander aimlessly up and down streets, toting books and a packed lunch to try to find someplace I might feel comfortable sitting, eating and reading. I still haven't found that place. I learned quickly that a smile meant one was up to something. I forced myself to hinder my smile reflex until one day it was completely gone. The only people who would talk to me were the homeless and they only wanted money. I only wanted someone to say, "hi" and mean it. One day a month after living in SF I drove to the Westlake portion of Daly City where I found a Trader Joe's. Inside the store by the produce aisle a woman with a shopping cart smiled at me and said "hello." I was so overwhelmed I started crying. I hadn't cried so hard in years-- the type of crying that is so painful it becomes silent and my body began to heave. Bell peppers were on sale. A few days later while waiting at a bus stop a man started talking to me. He wore a cowboy hat and he seemed to be fluent in crazy, but I listened. I had a collection of short stories by Jack London I was reading. I closed the book, my index finger acting as a bookmark to keep my place, and I nodded and nodded at everything the man said.I asked him a question, I can't remember what it was, and he looked at me and I saw his eyes well up. "You're the first person to say anything to me in years," he chocked out as he body began to heave and his cries turned silent.