Monday, March 6, 1972 - Page 66
LOCATION: Newport Beach, California
7:00 PM
I got to sleep last night at about 3:00 AM, after finishing "The Crimson Witch," the novel in FANTASTIC (OCT 70) -- it ended in a play for middle of the road leftist anti-establishment propaganda, without attaching any demeaning labels, of course. Woke up today at noon -- it's been over cast for the last couple of days, and today when I went for the mail it was drizzling imperceptibly. About the only thing I accomplished was getting my big red backrest sewed up before the stuffing fell out (I accidentally tore it a couple days ago) and I sewed a small tear in my gloves. I got Dad to pay me ten dollars, so I'm rich again.
7:51 PM
I reread the latest entries in the diary, and I jumped ahead to April First -- Time is intriguing. What will I know a month from now that I don't already know? Where will I be on December 31, 1972 (300 days from now), will everyone I know still be alive? Will I ? Will I have any stories published -- will I have my own home (preferably this here trailer) -- will I have been to Chicago -- will I still be as charming, virtuous, and dull as I am now? Time will tell, certainly. I wish I could see the future -- I wish I could go on and read the next 300 pages right now. Where will I be on January 1, Twenty hundred, A.D.???????????? [Note from the future: On 01/01/2000 I was in Corona, CA with my wife and daughter, waiting for the Y2K apocalypse that never happened]
WHAT DO I KNOW NOW THAT I DIDN'T 66 DAYS AGO WHEN THIS YEAR STARTED?
By the end of this year things will pro'ly be pretty much the same. Dad will be gone for sure, living elsewhere, divorced -- maybe remarried. Mom may be gone too, by 1973, and I'll be on my own -- a struggling free-lance writer, living with Tacosumi (she'll still be here) and maybe a few of her grown kittens. Possibly I'll have a girl -- and maybe she loves me. A doubtful possibility. I'll have my own car (maybe just the Barracuda). I'll have a few stories published, and I'll be getting farther into art, having fairly mastered writing. I won't be perfect yet -- it may take another year, but I'll keep trying no matter how long it takes. My out-look won't have changed much -- unbridled optimism tempered with good-humored cynicism and despair -- but I'll keep going. Right?
This is about as close as I'll get to time travel.
[To see how this temporal experiment plays out, jump forward in time to April 2, 1972]
LOCATION: Newport Beach, California
I got to sleep last night at about 3:00 AM, after finishing "The Crimson Witch," the novel in FANTASTIC (OCT 70) -- it ended in a play for middle of the road leftist anti-establishment propaganda, without attaching any demeaning labels, of course. Woke up today at noon -- it's been over cast for the last couple of days, and today when I went for the mail it was drizzling imperceptibly. About the only thing I accomplished was getting my big red backrest sewed up before the stuffing fell out (I accidentally tore it a couple days ago) and I sewed a small tear in my gloves. I got Dad to pay me ten dollars, so I'm rich again.
7:51 PM
I reread the latest entries in the diary, and I jumped ahead to April First -- Time is intriguing. What will I know a month from now that I don't already know? Where will I be on December 31, 1972 (300 days from now), will everyone I know still be alive? Will I ? Will I have any stories published -- will I have my own home (preferably this here trailer) -- will I have been to Chicago -- will I still be as charming, virtuous, and dull as I am now? Time will tell, certainly. I wish I could see the future -- I wish I could go on and read the next 300 pages right now. Where will I be on January 1, Twenty hundred, A.D.???????????? [Note from the future: On 01/01/2000 I was in Corona, CA with my wife and daughter, waiting for the Y2K apocalypse that never happened]
WHAT DO I KNOW NOW THAT I DIDN'T 66 DAYS AGO WHEN THIS YEAR STARTED?
By the end of this year things will pro'ly be pretty much the same. Dad will be gone for sure, living elsewhere, divorced -- maybe remarried. Mom may be gone too, by 1973, and I'll be on my own -- a struggling free-lance writer, living with Tacosumi (she'll still be here) and maybe a few of her grown kittens. Possibly I'll have a girl -- and maybe she loves me. A doubtful possibility. I'll have my own car (maybe just the Barracuda). I'll have a few stories published, and I'll be getting farther into art, having fairly mastered writing. I won't be perfect yet -- it may take another year, but I'll keep trying no matter how long it takes. My out-look won't have changed much -- unbridled optimism tempered with good-humored cynicism and despair -- but I'll keep going. Right?
This is about as close as I'll get to time travel.
[To see how this temporal experiment plays out, jump forward in time to April 2, 1972]
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