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04/24/97 3:11:04 PM
Woke up this morning feeling nauseous, sore throat, runny nose. Thought it a flu coming from out of nowhere, and at a very inopportune time. Took a long hot shower, went out for coffee, came back into the apartment and smelled the gas. Realized I'd left the oven on all night. It's a small apartment, the windows are shut, and the gas and fumes have nowhere to go except into my nervous system. Now it's after 3:00pm. Still feeling dizzy, throat is still sticky and gross, but it's starting to clear up. Fortunately, the oven was only at the "Warm" setting. It had been at 350� earlier. Maybe that's not fortunate at all. I wonder if it matters, or if gas is just gas. Maybe leaving it at the higher settings would have been deadly. I wasn't even wearing my Nikes. This was not intentional. I did not become so sick of it all last night that I decided to gas myself to death. But incidents like this remind me of just how easy it would be. And how accidents happen.
I thought it would clear my head a bit to get some fresh air, but fresh air is hard to find in Manhattan. In fact, every several yards there would be a whiff of gas from a car's exhaust. That very typical scent which usually passes unnoticed almost made me wretch my brain out. So I came back here. It would be really helpful, too, to sit here and complain about it for another half-hour. Garrison Keillor used to talk about a fictional high school literary magazine called Cumulus. That word is making me laugh again; Cumulus is such an appropriate name for a high school literary magazine. I'm also starting to think that that word could describe this website. Not in a bad way, necessarily. There must be a FAQ somewhere on how to gas yourself. I don't remember it from the Suicide Methods FAQ. Man, I haven't looked at that thing in a long time. I still have the shivers, palms are sweating, and the only way to describe how I feel right now is that I'm full of hot gas. I'm learning to love the word GAS. Can't stop saying it, whispering it to myself as I'm typing these words.
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10:20:04 PM
It is later. I am eating pizza. Still have a lot of packing to do. Just walked around outside for way too long looking for Chinese food. It all looked bland. Lots of drunk 23 year olds screaming and barfing on 1st Avenue tonight. What a fun time they must be having. Cockalorums, all of them! Recently recanted on my pledge to discontinue The Payphone List. Updated it a few days ago to include the dozens of new numbers which have come in since New Year's. Got really annoyed with it, and annoyed that so many of the numbers submitted were not public payphones but private residences of various individuals' ex-girlfriends:
Remote host: 38.231.163.25
Description:
Two nights ago, while walking home from 91st Street, a guy approached me and started in with "Excuse me, buddy, can you help a guy out..."
I winced and croaked "No-o-o-o-o," moving away from him.
He quit approaching me, and just stood there. His voice rose to a yell saying "You know, when I see fucking cocksuckers like you I just wanna grab your fuckin' head and SMASH IT INTO THE FUCKIN' LIGHTPOST!"
He kept yelling as I walked away. It was just talk.
I wonder if strangers in Atlanta call each other Cocksucker as much as they do here.
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