Something has spoken to me in the night, burning the tapers of the waning year; something has spoken in the night, and told me I shall die, I know not where. Saying:

“To lose the earth you know, for greater knowing; to lose the life you have, for greater life; to leave the friends you loved, for greater loving; to find a land more kind than home, more large than earth—

—Wheron the pillars of this earth are founded, toward which the conscience of the world is tending— a wind is rising, and the rivers flow.”

Thomas Wolfe, You Can’t Go Home Again qtd. 2002

The last couple of years has taken its toll. I lost the closest thing to a best friend I ever had just after I moved to New York. But I didn't know it. I didn't find out until I searched for his address to send him a Christmas card. Though the loss is old, it feels new. He was much younger than me, and apparently he died in his sleep just after I spoke to him last. He didn't seem like he wanted to talk at the time, so I figured I'd just wait for him to call me. We had that sort of thing going on, I suppose that's why we always stayed friends. When we got enough of each other we'd just drift apart for six months or a year until we were happy to hear from each other again. But this time around, he won't be calling back.

In 2003, I had no complaints. I suppose that hasn't changed. In 2004, I was working on a Master's thesis (which was later called an "ambitious failure" by my Ph.D. advisor— an appraisal that I don't disagree with). Everything is uncovered in a twinkle with electricity, and then it disappears. In 2006, I thought rubbing might be involved; in 2007, I was a hop across the river from Sodom. By 2008, I was keeping my chin up and my head out of the oven. Perhaps one of the happiest moments from the Twin Cities though, was voting for Al Franken.

Nonetheless, you're either with it all the way or you blow the scene. All 72 or 3 inches of snow have melted by now, and I'm starting to feel better about living in Central New York. In another month, it will be ten years of writing stuff down in public. I suspect I'll continue that; writing in private nearly cost me my life, while writing in public has brought me a new one. Thanks for reading, my love.

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