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I'm not going anywhere, ever

Saturday —

My strep throat still hurts a lot, and I'm still sucking cough drops and chewing toxic amounts of Aspergum. Doc couldn't give me something for the pain? The antibiotics are working, but barely and slowly.

Called Maggie again, instead of seeing her, because — hello? — I'm sick and contagious and all. She's still being nice, which is still off-putting, and I still feel weird for being off-put. We had a short conversation, because talking on the phone hurts my throat.

Then I saw a double-feature at the U.C. Theater in Berkeley: And Now For Something Completely Different and Monty Python and the Holy Grail — two movies I'd seen before, but they weren't as funny as I'd remembered. Maybe it's because the there were only seven people in the theater. Maybe it's because the theater is run down, smells funky, and is generally a depressing space. Or maybe I just wasn't in the right mindset for comedy.

Sunday —

Another nice phone call with Maggie, who flies home tomorrow. She lived in Seattle when we knew each other, but now her home is in the wild prairie lands of eastern Washington, in a small apartment complex, which she says is several miles from the nearest small town.

"I'm a country girl," she told me on the phone. Subtext: She's declining my invitation to stay with me in San Francisco.

"I'll be here," I said in response. Subtext: My invitation stands, because god knows I'm not going anywhere, ever.

I mean, take a look at me. There's nobody who'd want to get close to this hunk of flab and flatulence. There's been no other woman in my life in the 3+ years since Margaret and I were sort-of dating, and there's no-one on the horizon, no back-up plan, nobody I'd even consider asking out, and certainly nobody who'd say yes.

So Maggie and I are finished, probably, but I don't think it'll take me long to recover. It might take me longer to recover from the strep. She's someone I like, maybe borderline love, but she gets on my nerves, and she's actually been violent lately. Maybe it's for the best if she's a memory.

… There'll be plenty of time to be sad later, but now I'm going to BART under the water for another double-feature at the U.C., Scaramouche and Ivanhoe.

… And I'm back five hours later, after two terrific action-adventures. I didn't infect anyone at the theater, because there were only three other people and I sat nowhere near them. I like being nowhere near people. It feels normal. It feels like the rest of my life.

… I forgot to take my evening antibiotic, and two hours later my throat is as painful as it's ever been, and it's been painful since Wednesday. Not sure how I can afford not to go to work tomorrow, but I'm not going to work tomorrow.

Monday —

Here's a new breakthrough in modern health care: I stayed home in bed and didn't go to the movies today, mostly because there was nothing particularly interesting playing at any of the remaining theaters that show old movies (RIP, Strand). And also because I'm just generally blue.

I napped, took my antibiotics, read a good book, and started a second one. My throat is feeling better. I know you were worried.

... Margaret is in the air right now, flying back to Washington. I didn't see her off at the airport, but we said goodbye on the phone. We both said we'd call again soon, but 'soon' is amorphous, like Maggie and me, and I think we're over. I can't repair her, while I'm broken myself.

A week ago this morning was the last time we saw each other, maybe ever. I didn't know that at the time, but now it feels like it was obvious.

From Pathetic Life #1
Saturday, June 25 - Monday, June 27, 1994

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.


Pathetic Life 

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