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As sweet as cherry pie

It's not for certain we're moving to New York City, Sarah-Katherine and me. It's a possibility, something we're thinking about, talking about. Seems likely, though.

Today I'm thinking about the open arrangement she wants — we'd be friends, in separate rooms, flatmates who'd sometimes fuck but wouldn't own and be owned by each other.

I'm an old-fashioned boy, hesitant even to be ordinary boyfriend-girlfriend with anyone. An open relationship would've never occurred to me.

Maybe, though, it's exactly right for us. Maybe.

If she was "my girl," I'd have to work at being "her guy," something I've never been much good at. Just ask any woman I've dated. I'm lazy, so less effort sounds good.

I won't have to worry about earning and keeping the #1 position in her heart. Life isn't a pennant race, and my ego is tough enough it won't gnaw at me when I'm #2 instead, or #7. Long as I'm high enough in the standings to hold Sarah-Katherine's hand, life will be as sweet as cherry pie. Right? If she'll save a piece for me now and then, please.

♦ ♦ ♦

At least, I think that's what I think. I'm new at this, though. Maybe that's only what I want to think.

If we share an apartment and an open-bed policy, when Sarah-Katherine brings someone else home, when happy sounds are coming from her room while I'm alone in mine… I dunno. That's something I haven't experienced yet. Can't predict for sure how I'll feel about that, until someone I care about is down the hall fucking someone else.

Searching my mind as deep as I can dig, though, I don't think there's any jealous rage waiting to bubble up. The worst reaction I'd predict from me is just, "I wish it was me," but I feel that way about anyone being boinked by anyone — every time I see a pretty woman holding someone else's hand, I wish it was me.

♦ ♦ ♦

The math of the move is a more immediate problem. It's going to cost about $2,500 to get Sarah-Katherine and I relocated to New York City. That's the estimated price for bus fare, UPSing our few possessions, and making the damage deposit for a slum apartment in Brooklyn.

My half of that would be $1,250. I don't have it, of course. My lazy lifestyle has me earning just barely enough money to buy bologna and ice cream, pay the rent, and see a movie once in a while. I don't have a savings account.

My rent at Judith's place is supposed to be free in exchange for housework, but I haven't done any housework, so the rent is due tomorrow. After that, my net worth will be about $500 — Jay owes me $400 for fish work, and Bill owes me $100 for my work at Black Sheets.

There's a few hundred dollars stashed for emergencies, which leaves me about $750 short of the funds needed to move east with Sarah-Katherine.

I'll need to start living leaner than ever — no Twinkies, no movies, no meals except ramen, and absolutely no unnecessary or unexpected expenses.

And I almost said "no zine," but I did the math on that, too, and if I can believe my own jackass accounting, this zine breaks even. Plus it keeps me semi-sane, so I'm not giving up the zine.

If I scrimp on everything else, maybe I can scrape up $750 by the end of the year. That's a long wait, though, and I have no shame, so I'm also soliciting donations.

Yeah, that's right — you're about to be panhandled. You were kind enough to send cash for the zine you're reading, could you be kind enough to send something more than three damned dollars? Would it help if I said 'please'? 

No hard sell tactics from me. Go ahead and tell me to stick it.

But hey, if you can afford it and if you're feeling generous, here I am, rattling a tin can. You kind contributions could make Berkeley a better place, by getting me out of town.

♦ ♦ ♦

Two of the too many letters recently received seem worth sharing:

Kids suck! Damn, I could relate to your screaming at the kids in the hall. I do the same thing and I don't feel bad. They are infringing on my personal space with their goddamn screaming and jumping and bouncing off the walls. Go the fuck outside or go back in your cage, I say.

In reality it's the adult's fault — they cram their children into these tiny apartments and expect them to be normal. They ain't (the parents or the kids). All I see in this building and neighborhood are pregnant women. Don't these fuckers know there are already too many people in the world? Why anyone would want to raise a family is beyond me. Blame it on religion, whether it be Christianity, Hinduism, whatever. All the major religions think procreation is the only reason for life.

—David R Wyder 

Children are, I suppose, necessary to perpetuate the species, but there are far too many humans already. Enough already, with being fruitful and multiplying. That said, you seem to dislike children even more than I do, and maybe I lack the imagination, but when I see a pregnant woman I don't immediately think, Damn it, more kids.

—DH 

♦ ♦ ♦

I admire your determination to remain cynical no matter what. Rave up in Factsheet 5? Prominently mentioned in The New York Times? Mysterious legions of fans? Pshaw, none of it dents your dour veneer!

—Jacque Rowden 

I gotta be me. What else could I be? 

—DH 


From Pathetic Life #14
Monday, July 31, 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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