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12.31.00 3:24 a.m.

"I shall allow no man to belittle my soul by making me hate him."

  -Booker T. Washington 

Created on 3/20/01 from a letter written to Kate.
Tonight, hopefully, I shall be ringing in the New Year with Conor, Zanna, and Alison. I think the arrangement of this is mostly my doing, but I wasn't trying. Thus, I am acting for the gods and something will happen. Oh, bother.
It should, in theory, be a great deal of fun. At least some very quality conversation with Conor.
Writing about future events is significantly less fun, as I do not like predicting. I am very "NOW!" oriented at the moment, and a great deal of the now orientation is stopping myself from feeling in pain or anxiety. I am rather not looking forward (see future orientation causes unpleasantness) to talk with Kate because she could easily say thing that could cause me a great deal of pain, could tell me that she is sleeping with other people despite her assurances, but at the same time, I want it all over. I just want to know what is going on so I can center my life again. Right now, my life is floating in a bitter cold abyss with translucent jellyfish and trying its damnedest to reach out for a purchase and not lose feeling or gain pain in the process. The one light I thought I had may have been nothing more than my own fantasy and hope. I know one word could send all the jellyfish away, but the word isn't mine and I am under water thus unable to speak. The word is entirely hers, and I am truly sorry that such a pressure has been given to her. I need her here to speak the word, which will banish the jellyfish, warm the water, or allow my life to find purchase. And she is in Texas, unable to hear my pleas. But tomorrow, she shall be home (I pray this small prediction may come true) and we can see each other and speak. I'm glad it is only one more day; this is not an ache I could endure for much longer. Amputation would look very sweet indeed, had I to deal with this much longer. (So, no, she can't tell me to wait until you get back from across the pond in London).
Not much else has occurred today. The day is still young (to me, at least) and has much time to mature. Last night my family held their festivities. Owing to the snow and the fact that it was not, in fact, New Year's Eve, it was not very festive. All of the issues mentioned in this entry had taken a bite out of my appetite and filled my stomach with bile (I know, unpleasant imagery), so I ate little. I've been drinking a lot of orange juice, and I eat nutritious food when my appetite allows, so please don't worry needlessly for me. If something more eventful happens to me, I shall be sure to transcribe it to you.

reading: the words "not from concentrate" It looks very funny.
listening: nothing, I am underwater
the word
interesting thought: All but one species of jellyfish sting. The one that doesn't has no natural predators.

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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