Just a smidgen of optimism

Going to work today was a relief. I hate it, sure, and there’s nobody at the office I think of as a friend or even want to see, but it’s only low-level annoying. Nobody there tells me to lose weight, you know? Nobody tells me I'm going to burn in Hell for eternity.

Yeah, I’m still recovering from smothering in mothering. I’m glad it was a quiet day at work, with no major crisis or stupidities to deal with. Now I’m at the hotel, feeling lethargic, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.

After four days with my mother, I realize more fully than ever before that I’m batty, and that being around her makes me more batty. I wonder sometimes how batty I am, compared to the national batty standard. I’m battier than anyone I know, but my assessment might be mistaken — people don’t generally talk about how batty they are, so it’s hard to compare. I’d say I’m a 7.5 on a scale of 1 to 10, ten being institutionalized. What’s your batty rating?

Next question: Do you have a crazy inner dialogue all day, like I do? I mean, the voice isn’t telling me to pick up a pick axe and start swinging it around or anything, but it asks questions about the meaning of life, and leaves the answers dangling.

Is there a frickin’ point? My head is a fragile beast and it's been limping quite badly since Mom’s visit. Sometimes when the batty line rings, I want to let it go through to the answering machine. Any experts, from either side of the analytical couch, are cordially invited to weigh in.

♦ ♦ ♦

I spent most of the evening with Factsheet 5, and that was a help. It’s basically the Encyclopedia Eccentrica, and going through it with a highlighter pen, marking which dozens of zines I might send for, felt good. There are plenty of nuts out there, and tomorrow morning I’ll mail cash to ten of them, to see their zines.

By mid-evening drowsiness set in, along with just a smidgen of optimism. 

Optimism? What the hell is that? Something I haven’t felt in a week. I’m not back yet, but maybe soon.

From Pathetic Life #3
Monday, August 22, 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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