A card with no words

Sarah-Katherine sent a valentine's card, signed, with X's and O's, and nothing else. A card with no words.

It's the emptiest anything she's ever sent me, and I hope it doesn't mean she's hurting too much for words.

The card I sent to her a few days ago was mushier and crushier. I like her no less than a month ago, and I'm still being faithful — she's the only woman I masturbate about.

The valentine is the first thing she's sent in the mail since my letter almost two weeks ago, when I said I wasn't moving to New York with her. 

I'm still sorry about it, but I just couldn't do it, couldn't look for a straight job or give up my zine or do whatever else it might take to get the funds to get out of California. Couldn't do it, because I'm happy here and don't want to leave.

Well, 'happy' might be an exaggeration, but I'm comfortable in California. In New York I'd be nothing but uncomfortable, with the city, and with being her buddy with benefits.

I'm still sorry about telling Sarah-Katherine for months that I'd go with her to New York, before realizing that I wouldn't. I'll be sorry about that for a long time, with no plans to forgive myself, and I don't expect she'll forgive it either. But I'll never be sorry for not moving to New York.

From Pathetic Life #21
Tuesday, February 13, 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.

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