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Friday, May 8, 1998
By Paul Ford
All by my lonesome
I have a case of loneliness. The train to Buffalo stopped in Albany, and reminded me of my ex-girlfriend, Rhonda. She used to live there. My apartment is squalorous; I've made little progress in the last seven months at organizing my life, and even writing in this diary hollows me out.
I called my mother, since Mother's Day is tomorrow, and she said, "a young man needs a girlfriend. What's wrong with you?" I'm alone at work, it's 10:30 PM on a Saturday, and she brings up my singlehood. I have an Achilles soul.
I can't talk to anyone. I feel estranged from my friends, all of them, and I'm not communicating well. I'm writing this at work, emailing to myself, in the depths of despair. I feel like crying.
Wait, there's someone here at work.
Well, wouldn't you know it, it was Jesus, calling me home.
I said, "Jesus, I'm not ready yet!"
"There's no room on earth for fat complainers, Ford."
"But Jesus! I have so much to do! It's just been not easy lately."
"What do you want, sympathy? I got stapled. Get up and do
"It'll be hours before I'm done writing this thing. No one else is here on a weekend."
"Wait a minute," said Jesus. He checked his clipboard. "I was looking for a grown man to take to heaven, but I see I've found a little girl." He stopped, and shook his long hair. "Ford, you'd only dampen the white light. I'm leaving."
I saw him on the elevator. "So long, Ford," he said. "Shape up or I'll be back." I waved goodbye to Jesus as the elevator dinged and the door closed.