Alone is the baseline.

Today was a boring day. I walked to work, and then sold fish. It's a job.

Yesterday's worrisome cop wasn't back, and that's good.

After work, I walked home, ate four peanut butter sandwiches, stared at this typewriter, and wondered what to write.

What can I tell you about my day and life that I haven't already told you?

My life is: I'm alone. That never changes. There are a few faint acquaintances, but they don't really know me and they're a long ways away, either in miles or in mindset.

Alone is the baseline. It's who I am, wasting my few years on Earth as pleasantly as possible. I write, and sell fish, and read zines, and eat, and beat off, and sleep.

Writing is the part I like best. If ten minutes of my day are interesting, that's a terrific day, and I'll spend an hour writing it, trying to keep it honest but also interesting, usually failing but what the hell.

Days like today, though, when there aren't even ten minutes of anything interesting, are too damned dull to describe. Shall I tell you that I've switched from Woolworth to Walgreens branded suppositories, and explain at length why? That is the only story to tell for today, and I don't want to tell it, and you don't want to read it.

So instead I'm just popping in to say that not every hangnail can be Hamlet. Having said it, I'll say adios. 

I'm taking a week or so off from the diary, recharging my muse and typing fingers, until next Saturday.

From Pathetic Life #18
Saturday, November 18, 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.


  1. I hope you enjoy the week away.

    1. You know this is from the 1990s right?

    2. How do I get back there? I'd love a week off from all these months off.

    3. I enjoy reading about your alienation, but if we didn't like you we wouldn;t be reading this. Doug, nobody is as alone as you believe you are.

    4. I believe I've accurately assessed my alonitude. It's what I prefer, but I'm a peninsula, not quite an island. I so have family and a few friends in this world.


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