THURSDAY — I’m fevered and tense, like I owe people phone calls, letters, or money. Of course, I do owe people phone calls, letters, and money, but usually I don’t give a damn. Wonder if this is one of those “anxiety attacks” people talk about.

From Pathetic Life #21
Thursday & Friday,
February 22-23, 1996
It’s noon on a day off and nothing’s pressing at me, but my heart is racing like I’m supposed to be somewhere important half an hour ago. And also, what’s up with the fever? I’ve been feeling lousy for days now, with assorted aches and a belly that keeps trying to puke, but the fever is new.
♦ ♦ ♦
Here’s a letter from Sarah-Katherine, and it’s polite, perfunctory, and it really says nothing. It’s mighty short, too, but it’s better than the rage I’ve been expecting since telling her I’m not moving to New York.
It’s the first envelope she’s sent me since before we met that came addressed to Doug instead of Doug ♥, but it’s a friendly letter when I deserve worse. Glad she still likes me enough to lick a stamp.
♦ ♦ ♦
FRIDAY — Dragged the cart to Telegraph and sold fish all day, but I sure didn’t want to. Puked in the street behind my table, and the sight and stench wasn’t good for business, but my nose is clogged and the puke was a ways away so the stink didn’t bug me.
When I got home, I had a sudden need to bawl like a baby. And after a good long lonely cry, I vomited again. Then I laid in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling like crap, and drifted off to a shitty night’s sleep.
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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