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12.21.00 9:09 p.m.

"I wonder if I'm secretly alien. My skin is not like yours or hers."

 -Sarah Merritt, "Delirious" 

NOTE: This entry was created on 3/17/01 from a letter written to Heather.
I don't really know why I chose that quote. It's the name of a song one of my best friends in every dimension, Sarah, wrote. (Though this has no bearing on the rest of this letter, except in the most tenuous way, the song "To Kiss Him" on her page is about me. It gives me a certain ego gratification to have very lovely songs written in my honor.) Probably has some deep-seated psychological significance that I am only vaguely aware of on a subconscious level. Or maybe it was the first words to pop into my head. Sadly she does not include the lyrics to the song on her website, so I cannot check which it is.
Anyway, that's all a trifle unimportant at the moment. I spoke with Kate last night. I'm TRYING my damnedest to not analyze her into inscrutable little pieces. Anyway, she was very friendly on the phone, much as she was last night. It should be noted that last night, she was home for the first time all semester (home is in Poughkeepsie, so it is not as though it was any trek to get there).
She was acting - and this is an awful thing to say - like my Katie again. Erg! It was easier to want a clear break from her when she wasn't in fact her.
I agreed to hang out with her today, in a fit of being impressed with her insight. In all probability alone. At her house. Oi, I am really masochistic. But I am a self-preserving and very self-aware masochist, so I think I should be able to handle her. At least she is no surer than I am, so I am not at a complete disadvantage (she just quite literally bears the home court advantage).
Oh well, it should be excellent fodder for the short story gods, if nothing else. I am trying to sedate the elf in my head who is having irrational hopes. I don't need irrational hopes about Miss Kate. They are rather the antithesis of what I genuinely do need.
Oh, I neglected to inform you what propelled the Hope Elf more than anything else. She will be leaving for a road trip with her brother just after Christmas. She will have a one-day layover back here before going to London for two weeks. She has informed me that she would rather enjoy spending time with me on that day. *Sigh* Evil.

reading: Still Life With Woodpecker , Tom Robbins
listening: to anything but the Hope Elfwanting: something I can never have
interesting thought: Personifying your problems doesn't make them any easier to avoid.

Thomm Quackenbush is an author and teacher in the Hudson Valley. Double Dragon publishes four novels in his Night's Dream series (We Shadows, Danse Macabre, and Artificial Gods, and Flies to Wanton Boys). He has sold jewelry in Victorian England, confused children as a mad scientist, filed away more books than anyone has ever read, and tried to inspire the learning disabled and gifted. He is capable of crossing one eye, raising one eyebrow, and once accidentally groped a ghost. When not writing, he can be found biking, hiking the Adirondacks, grazing on snacks at art openings, and keeping a straight face when listening to people tell him they are in touch with 164 species of interstellar beings. He likes when you comment.

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