he first week of Ramadan is almost over, and I'm settling in I think. This morning I cracked the face of my alarm clock by flinging it off the nightstand when it went off at five. Oops. There is a slight cottony film over everything - hard to tell if it's from a disrupted sleep schedule or the fast. Sometimes I'm on auto-pilot from one prayer to the next. At moments I'll feel such a strong need for something - a cup of coffee perhaps - that it's almost hard to bear. And then it passes. When I get lonely I think of anonymous Muslims in San Francisco fasting along with me. I think of them lining up at Gordo at sunset, timing their transaction with the very moment they will be able to chomp into a hot, cheesy burrito. The fact is, I believe in the work of the spiritual path, in drudgery and hunger and longing. It's all right with me if it's difficult. For some of us, it's supposed to be difficult.