From Pathetic Life #19
Thursday, Dec. 28, 1995
Lugosi was making the most horrendous whining sound at about 7:00 this morning. “Bark, bark,” as usual at the front door, any time anyone walks by, but then, “Nnnnrrrrryyyyyy, nnnnnrrrrooooooo.”
That’s a dog that really needs to take a dump, was my only guess, so without even putting pants on, just wearing shorts, socks, and a t-shirt (my writing uniform) I leashed and muzzled the big moose, and outside we went.
He didn’t even want to pee. All he did was moan a little more, and he looked up and down the street as if something was horridly wrong in the world. But what?
By the time we’d come back to the door, I understood, so I must be smarter than a dog — Jake’s car was gone. Usually he leaves for work at about 11:00, but this morning he must’ve gone in early, so instead of being sound asleep at his master’s feet, Lugosi was crying at the front door — the canine equivalent of “Why hast thou forsaken me?”
I like that enormous slobbery dog, but saying he’s “a bit much” is a lie. He’s a lot much. He’s all the much. There’s no much anywhere else except Lugosi. If he’s not in the hall, tail a tornado, with a wet tennis ball in his mouth, he’s throwing his huge body against the front door because he’s heard footsteps.
We played toss ‘n fetch, and then I scratched his pancake-size ears, and then I washed my hands, because Lugosi doesn’t do baths, so petting him causes stinky fingers.
♦ ♦ ♦
And then I wondered if a dog can catch people-diseases, because I’m as sick as a dog. Today was a day off, arranged in advance, for a long errand with Josh, but when he called and cancelled those plans, I knew I should’ve cancelled first.
It feels like my testes are radioactive, my brain’s made of greasy fried onions, my throat of steel wool, and my stomach lined with worms tunneling through jello.
Bundled up warm, I stayed home, coughing, moaning, sleeping, writing. Lugosi didn’t approve of the strange sounds coming from my room, so he spent the day outside my door, and every time I headed for the head to vomit, I had to step over him. He’s so big it’s like jumping a hurdle.
Between barfings, I wrote this, and worked on editing some recent entries. And most worrisome, especially for me, I didn’t eat anything but a couple of bananas, and that was only so I wouldn’t have the dry heaves.
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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