From Pathetic Life #24
Tuesday, May 7, 1996
The pay-phone rang on my way out of the hotel this morning, and everything from yesterday flashed back at me. It wasn’t quite PTSD, but I’m still angry about it.
That bastard Bennett’s phone harassment reminds me of the idiots who approach me on Telegraph and ask if I’m the guy who does that zine — only Bennett did it where I live. And he probably doesn’t even think he was out of line. I’ll bet he thinks I’m the asshole, for hanging up on him.
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Washed a lot of dishes for Judith during the day, and then washed a lot of fuckin’ dishes for that fuckin’ Gary at the fuckin’ bar all fuckin’ night. It’s nice having two people hand wads of cash to me on the same day, and I don’t mind washing dishes, but unless you’re Dishwasher Pete there’s not much more to write about washing dishes.
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It was kinda complicated, words difficult to find, so I didn’t write about this when it happened on Saturday, and also I was sleepy. Days later it’s keeps crossing my mind, though, so I’m gonna write about it now:
Brenda had her table set up and was selling her art, but we didn’t talk much. There was a new vendor working nearby, and Brenda waved at her and walked over to say hello. They had a long and friendly conversation, and I assumed that they were old friends, and said so to Brenda, but she said nope, they’d never met until that moment.
For the rest of the day Brenda wandered to that lady’s table a lot, and that lady wandered over to Brenda’s table, and they shared chuckles and yuks and stories.
They’re people people, see, and people people make friends like that, quick, easy, probably long-lasting. I’m anti-people anti-people, so I’d never even think of doing what Brenda did — crossing the street and walking up to a stranger and starting a conversation.
When someone approaches me like that, I go full armadillo. I am quiet by nature, shy around people, introverted, and happy that way.
The whole day went by, and when the new vendor packed up and left late in the afternoon, I still hadn’t said hello to her. If she’s there next weekend and the weekend after, I might eventually say ‘hi’, but not if I gotta cross the street to do it. When she’s been there for a month or two, I might even say more than ‘hi’, but I’m in no hurry to get to know her, or anyone.
And it hits me how alone I am in this life, but what hits me hardest is knowing I’m happy that way. I’d rather be left alone than suffer through most conversations I suffer through.
The people people never believe it, but not everyone who’s alone is miserable. I kinda like being alone, and usually prefer it, so stay away, please. There’s a palm tree for shade, easy fishin’, and a typewriter on this desert island, so I’m good, thanks.
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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