Goodbye, damn it. 

Here's a letter from Sarah-Katherine, sweet as always, but she's getting antsy. Instead of waiting for me to scrape up the money and move to New York, she's moving without me.

I'm invited to join her when I can afford to move east, but realistically that won't be any time soon. Probably not this year, maybe not in this lifetime.

So this might be goodbye, damn it. 

My head is full of thoughts, which I'll try sorting through…

Sarah-Katherine is probably smart to leave without me. I'm broke, and broke won't buy a ticket to ride. Broke can't pay half the rent.

About $1,200 would take me to New York, with enough left over to not be instantly panicked about my next meal. I have $600, half enough — enough to get there and be homeless. I'd be immediately signing up for welfare, sleeping on Sarah-Katherine's couch and sponging off her, which I will not do. 

The next thought, and it's disgustingly sexist to say this, even think this, because in my head I absolutely know she's one tough dame. She has nothing to fear from NYC, and New York should probably be afraid of her, but... I worry.

This isn't That Girl, where plucky Marlo Thomas moves to Manhattan and lands the perfect job, the perfect apartment, makes friends with her nice neighbors, winks at a mannequin at Macy's, and the mannequin winks back.

It's real life, where anything could go wrong. I wish I was going with her. I'm not big and tough, but I look it, and that's usually been enough to keep trouble at bay.

So like an idiot, I wrote back and suggested that she move to San Francisco instead. It's idiotic, because we've had that conversation before.

No, New York is where she'd rather stay, so that's where she's going, and she's going without me, at least until I can afford to join her, which is never. So this is probably goodbye, damn it. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

They said to come by the CopWatch office any Tuesday afternoon, after 3:30, so I was there. The door was locked, the lights were off, and nobody answered the bell. I stood there ringing and knocking for twenty minutes, then gave up and came home. 

Well, maybe they were out watching the cops. I'll try again next Tuesday, after 3:30.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Artrero, Judith's adult son, is why I did the last big clean-up. He's been staying in the guest room for the past week or so, along with his girlfriend. My parents would've rained armageddon on me if I'd brought a female home to stay overnight, but Artrero has a better mom.

He's not particularly outgoing, and I'm utterly introverted, so we shook hands when he got here and we haven't said a word to each other since.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

And Sarah-Katherine is moving to New York without me, so goodbye, damn it. And good luck.

From Pathetic Life #20
Tuesday, January 9, 1996

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. Be very glad you dodged the NYC bullet. You'd never have met your future wife and right now you'd either be dead, homeless, living in complete squalor and/or not in NYC but some other crap east coast city like Poughkeepsie. It's a jungle out there. Seattle sounds better than most. -- Arden.

  2. I don't regret not moving to New York, for exactly those reasons and more. I *do* regret telling Sarah-Katherine I would, and then not doing it, but that's a different regret.


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