-Bruce Covell 

Response 2022.07.21
I just applied for a job at a place called Adventure Island. It is a gaming place with bumper cars, video games, mini golf, and the like. I do not think I am getting the job. When the man interviewing me asked me if I had any questions, all I could think you say was "What is the base pay?" As though that was the right question to ask. Granted, it is a valid question, I should very much not like a job where I am working for minimum wage. Especially one where I have to deal with *urg!* people. Actually, honestly, this would be a nice job for the summer. A good experience. However, I do not think I got it.
In addition, the interviewer asked me about my hobbies. I told him that I read and I had a popular web page. And that is it. How completely misanthropic do I sound?

Okay, so you want to know how I am handling the Todd thing. Actually with an eerie quiet. I am really sort of okay with this. Death kind of loses its sting if you remember past lives. I think it is horrible that he ended his life and left so many people who cared about him behind. Many are suffering immensely for this. But I am calm. Todd is dead. Todd is fire, a different form of the same creature.
He had been planning this for a while evidently. The party he had was his farewell bash, not that anyone knew that at the time. For months he had been bugging me to attend, happy as could be that he was having this huge party. It is almost obscene now. I have been told that hordes of people did show up and he was utterly gleeful. I no longer feel bad that I did not attend and it hurts further that he did this. Never again will I see parties as wholly innocent.
I did not end up going to Todd's wake. I just could imagine seeing him lying still in clothes that weren't absolutely garish. I would not wish to remember him as such. And, frankly, I was scared to go alone. I just couldn't fathom doing so.

M and I are joyfully together, one month today. We struggled for a bit, owing entirely to my wanting to be alone. But I am decidedly in love with her. She came to my side when she found out Todd had died. We spent four days last week in each other's beds. I sleep well in her arms. Of course, I was serious about holding off on a sexual relationship. It is merely cuddling, with the occasional story thrown in for good measure.
Our relationship is very secure and I can see myself being with her for a while. Which I am sure is a delight to her as an abusive and horrible ex-boyfriend who should rot in the bottom of a pit for their sins against this darling (*ahem*) gave her less than the self-esteem a beautiful and witty girl like herself should have.
She is ridiculously funny and it does wonderful thing to me. We watched The Blob in Zack's basement last night. We were both cracking jokes about it for the entire duration of the film, and I laughed so much my stomach muscles still ache. We are all clear on the concept that laughter releases endorphins, right? So does a certain other activity that incidentally uses my stomach muscles (and, if one is to be really safe, a diaphragm). Thus I think her wit causes me to be post-coital, minus the coitus. See, guys really are attracted to girls with senses of humor.
Okay, it really does help that she looks like someone out of Arthurian legend. Let me be a little bit shallow, okay?

So, I'm not sure if you were aware that I can no longer work at the library. As I was a student aide, once I graduated, they were unable to employ me as stated in college policy. I certainly do miss it, it was by far my favorite job, and such sinecures are not oft nor easily obtained.
I plan on, since I feel I did poorly in my interview at Adventure Island, applying at three local libraries tomorrow. I am fully aware that it will be different and nowhere near as enjoyable as my technical processing job at Dutchess, but it is work I know. It is familiar and involves being surrounded by books all day. Possibly little social interaction, which pleases me vaguely. I had to deal with some truly vile adults when I worked at the children's museum, I do not necessarily look forward to the idea of dealing constantly with malcontents who feel the world owes them. Worse, having to deal with pedophiles that I cannot merely report via a link on my computer. Pedophile duty was always the worst at the museum and it was always mine.

There are so many changes occurring in my life. At least I still have my life, though, so I am not complaining.
My older brother Dan is moving out, piece by piece. I am getting his room once he leave, though I have only had my own room very briefly once when I was at a Social Psychology seminar at Bard college. I think it will be a unique experience, especially as my current roommate and brother (well, he'll still be my brother) is a packrat and sees absolutely no reason to clean ever. I am not hyperbolizing, when I pick up moldy towels or rotting food he calls me a clean freak. Tell me, please, that this is a clinically diagnosable disorder. Ah, well, I will be out of there soon enough.
M volunteered to help me move. I was shocked that she would volunteer for that, as I had no intention of making my darling do manual labor for my benefit. Sweet girl, that M.

I got a postcard and a letter from Kate. She remembers me. Aw.

reading: Jitterbug Perfume, Tom Robbins
listening: A.J. Benza telling me of another mystery and/or scandal
wanting: gainful employment would be nice.
interesting thought: Death is no more an end than the period of this sentence.
moment of zen: realizing how perfectly erotic laughter is.

Thomm Quackenbush is an author and teacher in the Hudson Valley. He has published four novels in his Night's Dream series (We Shadows, Danse Macabre, 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.