It was a day like any other day. I work, eat, sleep, shower, and brush my teeth, except on weekends. And such is my life. What more could a man want?
Well, it would be nice to have sex as more than just a memory, perhaps a meaningful relationship with something softer than a tube of Vaseline.
She says exactly what she's thinking, farts loudly, has PMS twenty-three days a month, has huge hooters and plenty of attitude. Same as me in a lot of ways. We're a match made in Hell.
I haven't seen her in three years, since I abandoned life as I knew it to move to San Francisco. Most of those left behind, I haven't taken the time to miss them, because the family never knew me all that well, and the friends were just acquaintances, and the acquaintances were really strangers. One day I simply slipped away, looking for a new life.
But Maggie is one of the few people I've regretted leaving behind. I invited her to tag along as I was packing, but she found my request rather vague, since I didn't know where I was going, how long it might take to get there, and when or whether I'd ever be coming back.
I was happy as heck to hear from Maggie a few months back, and by mail we've rekindled what was once a fairly frisky flame. She arrives June 13, for a brief visit I'm hoping turns into a long stay. I've repeated the invitation to share my world, and I'm hoping she'll look at the fabulous life I'm living here, and join it.
But if it turns out that our romance isn't meant to be, we'll at least have had a few nights of rowdy sex again.
From Pathetic Life #1
Thursday, June 2, 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.
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