Before I left for work on Thursday morning, I chatted with my roommate, who, lately, has been working in his employer's New York office more often than not. It's been nice having him around. We both get up early and take turns running to the French cafe across the street. We always purchase two freshly baked croissants, one of which I eat off of a small plate and the other of which is eaten by my roommate off of a napkin or a paper towel, and one large coffee, which we split, and drink from small glasses, as we sit side by side at our living room table, checking our email, work and personal, and reading bits of morning news - sometimes out loud to each other - on our respective laptops which are powered by DSL.

I told him on about my night with Bruno, and the support and information he provided about the smoking cessation process I'm currently struggling through.

"And I didn't smoke, and I'm glad I didn't," I said.

"Good," said my roommate.

"But you know, I still have to make it through today."

"You can do it," he said. "I'm really impressed that you haven't been acting too differently since you quit. I've barely noticed a change in your personality.

I didn't bother telling him that my subconscious was handling this battle, by putting me through and incredibly freakish dream world.

"So, uh...do you notice anything different about me since I quit smoking? Besides not smelling like smoke, I mean."

My roommate looked at me, with a steady, potent gaze, which you must see to believe. I swear to you, when he wants to, he can stare inside of you, under your skin, around your ribs, behind your veins and in the center of your blood cells. He can see your heart. He can see your mind. He can't see your soul yet, but give him time. You see, he has only recently started studying Zen principles. I have certain X-Ray powers too, but of course, I can never apply it to myself.

It took him a while. He was seated at the table. I was standing. I was headed out the door. The combination of coffee and the recent application of the albeit weaker but still somewhat potent nicotine patch had jolted me into a suddenly talkative state. He knew what I was feeling. He made me stand there while he thought, so that I understood he was being thoughtful and honest.

Finally, he said, "You're clearer."

"What does that mean?"

"You have to think about it."

"I don't want to think about it."

"It's a koan."

"What's a koan?"

"It's something you're supposed to think about for a while, and then you'll find the real answer."

I paced a bit. I knew he was sharing newly acquired knowledge, and that's always important. My roommate is not one to waste words, and I wanted to show him respect. But I was a bit hungover, entirely overcaffeinated (Even from half a cup! I cut out coffee when I quit smoking. I'm hardcore like that.), a little stressed out from the acquisition of a new client, and suppressing much of my sexual desire and all of my flirtatious tendencies for a variety of reasons. Also I was leaving the country in six weeks for an indeterminate amount of time, and had yet to plan for it. I didn't need a new challenge for my brain.

"You know what? I got a lot going on here. I appreciate what you said, but can you give me something more tangible?"

He smiled and said, "Your complexion is so much better."

"Thanks," I said, and I left for work.

Much later that day, I explained to a new friend, via IM, what had been going on in my love life lately, and he said, "Wow, you sound really balanced."

Without thinking, I instantly replied, "Yea, I feel really clear about it all."

I read what I wrote. I leaned back from my desk, and read it again. I leaned forward, rested my head on my hand, cocked it slightly, and smiled.

I know I didn't quite get it write, that task. I was supposed to figure something else out. But I'll take what I can get these days.

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