From Pathetic Life #11
Wednesday, April 5, 1995
If my dad was alive, he’d say to me, “Doug, you’ve really screwed things up, to be handing out flyers for a living at your age.” He always had after-the-fact advice, and he’d see my last ten years as an uninterrupted series of mistakes. I’ve enjoyed every mistake I’ve made, of course, and I’d make the same mistakes again.
Dad would say my string of screw-ups began a decade ago, when I quit my semi-yuppie job to go full-time at a second job that paid less, but which I enjoyed more. Money makes the world go ’round, yeah, but I prefer my world rotate really slow.
When I left everything behind and moved to California, it was the same decision all over again. Likewise, when I quit my ‘real job’ in February, and started pinning up signs offering to do odd jobs. All my big choices made me less money, and more happy.
Poverty takes some getting used to, though. For example, there’s no soap dish in the shower at this apartment, and my instant inclination is to buy one. Reality argues back, and points out that I’d have to stand on my feet and hand out flyers for an hour to earn the price of a soap dish. Is a soap dish worth an hour of my life? No, it is not. It’s not worth even fifteen minutes, so the soap balances on the lip of the bathtub instead.
I’m doing laundry by tossing it into the tub when I shower, letting it soak up the soapy run-off, then wringing it and rinsing, wringing again and letting it dry. It all dries kinda wrinkly, a wrinkled shirt is not worth the quarters it would take to do laundry the ‘right’ way, and I don’t have an iron.
Milk, lemonade, soda, and beer? No, no, no, and no. Despite all the advertising, water tastes good, quenches thirst, and remains the only liquid that’s essential to human survival — and it’s free, so water is what I’m drinking, unless you’re buying.
I’m out of toilet paper, but that’s another unnecessary expense, if there’s a newspaper at the potty. The Chronicle isn’t quite so soft and absorbent as Charmin, but it’s a more philosophically satisfying wipe — at last, there’s a purpose for all the paper’s pages of stock tables.
Another idea, though I haven’t tried it yet, is that the next time my hemorrhoids flare up, maybe mayonnaise will work instead of a suppository.
Living lean is my quest! If you have cheapskate suggestions, please send ’em in. I’ll try anything once, and print any suggestions that make sense.
♦ ♦ ♦
Today I finally met Pike’s fraidy-cat, a black and white thing that’s fairly friendly but very nervous. For as long as we’ve lived here, the cat’s always been hiding.
Pike says pets weren’t allowed at his last place, so the cat spent several months at some other guy’s house. He thinks the other guy must’ve ignored the cat or treated it cruel, because it used to be brave but now it cowers and runs in terror every time a passing car honks its horn or someone slams a door.
Terry said “Uh-huh” several times as Pike was telling me about the cat. She says “Uh-huh” a lot, whenever Pike is saying anything. She’s a ditz, and I wonder whether she even has an apartment of her own — she is always, always here, and she never hides like the cat does.
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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