Soon, maybe very soon, I'm moving to Judith's massive apartment. I'll be the fifth person living there, which could lead to long lines at the toilet. The place has two bathrooms, but the second john has been out of commission for years. The plumbing works, I've been told; it's just that the room is stuffed to the ceiling with junk beyond comprehension — old newspapers, canned foods with yellowing labels, books in bad shape, a washing machine that doesn't work, empty shelving, and everything else imaginable.
That was the plan, but what happened was, Judith was asleep when I got there. I banged on her door a couple of times, couldn't rouse her easily, and decided I didn't want to be sorting through all her crap without her help.
So instead of clearing the bathroom, I washed some of her dishes, took her dog Lugosi for a walk, and admired the different mess of everything in the world that's jammed into what'll soon be my bedroom. (I'm not a huge Marilyn Monroe fan, but someone is — there's an impressive collection of Marilyn memorabilia in there, including a half-size statue of her skirt being blown upward.)
An hour had passed, Judith still wasn't awake, and banging on her door didn't do anything but bother the dog, so I said fuck it and left. There are several theaters within walking distance, and I had a Landmark movie pass that expires in a few weeks, so I walked to the Shattuck without even knowing what was playing. Figured I'd see whatever junk flick was next to begin, to quietly kill a few hours before going back to see if Judith was awake.
While she was sleeping I saw While You Were Sleeping, a formulaic romantic comedy with Sandra Bullock, from the factory in Hollywood. It was schmaltzy, predictable, and manipulative, but not bad.
When I got back to Judith's place (soon to be my place too!), she was awake but getting ready for a doctor's appointment. My day had been wasted, in other words. No progress on the bathroom and bedroom messes.
I wanted to just go into that mega-cluttered bathroom and start boxing up everything, but Judith has a phobia of boxes. Things in boxes are an obligation to sort through the boxes later, she says, and she'd rather do the sorting without the boxes.
I may have mentioned but I'll mention again, Judith is kinda kooky. Owning some phobias and dementia of my own, though, I can't complain.
Judith invited me to accompany her to the doctor's office, luring me with the promise of going to a donut shop afterwards, so I went along, ate three donuts, and by the time we got back to the house it was almost dusk.
We started cleaning out the spare bathroom, finally, but we didn't make much progress. Then she started making dinner, and I ended up chatting with Cy about the relative merits of original Star Trek and Star Trek: The Next Generation. I think I'm gonna like Cy.
As for clearing the bathroom and then my bedroom at Judith's house, the new plan is that I'll be back tomorrow, and we'll work on it together. Which was also the plan for today, so — we'll see.
I'm supposed to bring some minimal possessions tomorrow, which for me is my typewriter, dictionary, and maybe a change of underwear. Then, starting tomorrow night, I'll sleep in the guest room until my soon-to-be bedroom is cleared out and ready to have my own mess moved in.
♦ ♦ ♦
At the donut shop, Judith and I talked about Sarah-Katherine. Judith, being female, has opinions on me & SK, and thinks I should try harder at impressing her. She says I should write sweeter letters to Sarah-Katherine, and send poetry, little gifts, etc, but — absolutely not.
I am not willing to put in that much effort, and when Judith referred to Sarah-Katherine as my girlfriend, I corrected her. I could do worse and Sarah-Katherine probably couldn't, but I am not delusional. I'm not trying to be anyone's boyfriend, not from this distance, probably not ever, and definitely not Sarah-Katherine's.
When I said that to Judith, she accused me of being un-romantic. Me, un-romantic? God, I hope so. If I start writing passionate letters on scented parchment and sealed with a kiss, please kick me in the nuts, hard.
Whenever romantic thoughts even briefly pop into my head, I just think: Look at Sarah-Katherine, and look at me. She's smart, stacked, and pretty. I'm of passable intellect, but fat and funny-looking and have bad breath.
I like Sarah-Katherine. She tolerates me. That's the best offer I've had in years, and it's enough. Anyway, what's the rush? Sex isn't the only thing best wrapped in latex. Hearts need protection too.
From Pathetic Life #13
Tuesday, June 20, 1995
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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