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02.19.01 10:42 p.m.

"I miss the you I used to know
Before I let you down
Before you let me go."

Eileen and I are no more than friends now. It has been a very long weekend.
I was supposed to see dear Eileen on Friday for our Substitute Valentine's Day NotADate. We were going to go to a tiny and quaint inn for a late dinner, at my suggestion. I wanted nothing more than to give her an incredible, romantic evening and, yes, try to win her heart. That or have her break it off permanently so my heart didn't get too deep into this all. However, the evening did not occur at all. Her boss kept her at work until half an hour after the reservations. Then her parents would not allow her to venture out to see me owing to the slippery roads. We ended up having a small fight because I was disappointed and she was upset she couldn't see me.
So, we are close friends. But nothing more.
I am very sad about this. However, I am in no way mad at her, of course. I care deeply for her, she is an amazing person (whether she knows that or not. If she doesn't, I'll remind her). I will not lament (umm... much). I will survive (Cue the Gloria Gaynor!). As god as my witness, I will never go hungry again!
She said that she was too shallow. She intimated that I was too old (not chronologically, psychoemotionally). That we were on different levels. She was released when I told her that I would be okay if she did not want to be my romantic partner, after I told her that she had not at all changed to me simply because she didn't wish to be with me. She is very much still the same person and I think she is wonderful. Of course, I shall cease to fawn on her.
Utterly unattached, yet again. I'm aware some would be very happy about this, because they could now be free to pursue others. They are arses. Well, perhaps that's not the right thing to say. But such thinking is foreign to me. Not that I am not content to be by myself. I am not a co-dependant freak. I just meant, I know quite a few (like the vast majority of my alleged peer group) that see anonymous "hooking-up" as a path to enlightenment. Actually, they are not even seeking anything vaguely life enlightenment. That occurs only in a highly formal operational level. Rooting about in the metaphorical mud barely qualifies as human living.
Kate informs me that Brave New World deals with a culture where everyone has sex indiscriminately and those that chose not to are the societal pariahs, viewed as loose women supposedly are in traditional American culture. However, the society I see myself engulfed in bears a canny enough resemblance to what she tells me of this book. I would rather celibate for years rather than engaging in the conjoining of souls I consider sex with someone I was not shockingly in love with. In fact, that is where I feel I am headed. Some idiotic romantic who will not uncross his legs (okay, this works a lot better with females. Go with it. Suspend your disbelief.) for years in hopes he shall again be with someone he finds amazing.
I have no quarrel with premarital sex. I try my damnedest not to be a hypocrite as I have engaged in it, reveled it, craved it, let it swallow me whole. It is emotionless... no, loveless sex I am opposed to. Fucking. The word is universally viewed as negative (i.e. "You stupid fuck," "You didn't study? You are so fucked!") and yet people are actually PROUD to say they have been fucked. I would shatter if I tried.
Sex... making love... should be, can be, is an amazing transformation. It can be the most intense spiritual experience of one's life. Or it can be a weapon used to degrade and destroy. Kill the soul and with it the body (STDs affect quite a few of my peers).
Am I so wrong to want to live, thrive?

reading: Alternative History and The New Shape of World Politics
listening: Ben Folds Five's "Kate" from Whatever & Ever Amen
wanting: Other, preferably with XX chromosomes, beings that I feel a connection with.
interesting thought: Illusions are surprisingly painful when they need to be.

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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