I am exhausted, physically and emotionally. The week, which started out badly, continued downhill. I was told I was getting crap for a bonus and Christina, the woman I work with since March got twice as much as me. I know I’m being punished by these fuckers. I know how much Christina got since I asked her. I’m sure I looked crestfallen. I’ve been working for these shit bags since 2002 and I got screwed.

A few days later, John McGruff, head asshole with head up his ass sent out a memo stating that anyone discussing bonuses would have a cause for dismissal. Of course this was after the fact and anyhow he never mentioned the confidentiality when discussing the numbers that each person would receive. Stupid fuckhead.

So the pussy known as John McGruff was out of the office Thursday and Friday. It’s just gotten so rotten in the office. I have no back up, no one I could tell my troubles to. There a few sympathetic ears but ultimately they can’t do a thing. Everyone’s watching their own asses anyway.

I still do my job, and I do it well. Anything that is asked of me, I have to do. I don’t have the luxury of postponing my jobs like others do. I get requests from London, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Boston and everything they ask for, or need, I make sure they get it.

With this job I feel like a battered wife who keeps going back for more.

I do a lot of work behind the scenes. I make sure the show goes on and runs smoothly. I’m an asset at this shithole and they treat me like shit. I know I’m not shit, but when faced with wave upon wave of this I start to have doubts. Bill has been a pillar of strength for me through out all this. He’s really coming through for me.

There is such incompetence in this office and I seem to be the only one who sees it. I’ve given up pointing it out since nothing gets done about it. Which adds to the depression that I’ve experienced the past few days. Exhausting depression.

Last night, a friend from the San Francisco office called and asked me to go out and pick up ribbon for some gifts they’re sending to clients. Not any type of ribbon, something nice, something classy. I knew just the place. I walked around midtown while doing so, not at all in the holiday spirit and grimacing at those that have the spirit that I lack.

Spent 70 bucks and change on these fucking ribbons. They are nice nonetheless. I got back to the office and had the office manager tell the admin bitches, and Brenda that the ribbon was at my desk. A few waddled up and took what was needed. One in particular, Helen Pollard Isaac, who was a friend a year ago, (we’ve gotten distant) walks up to my desk and says that I’m such a fag for picking out such nice ribbon.

I show how offended I am. I get kicked in the fucking teeth all week long and now this fucking bitch makes a comment about me being a fag and picking out nice ribbon. Helen is Trinidadian, and she’s black.

She sees my unhappiness with that comment and doesn’t understand why I’m upset.
She’s that stupid. She tried to rationalize it by saying that I called her a cock blocker a few weeks ago, so it makes us even. You see, a few weeks ago there was some guy, very handsome, ruff around the edges came in to fix the coffee machine. The 2 of us were talking in the kitchen about nothing in particular, but the talk was sexually charged, or at least that’s how I heard it.

I play it safe, mention that I don’t play on his team. Just then Helen comes in and interrupts whatever vibe might’ve been happening. The sexually charged atmosphere dissipated, he went his way and I went mine. I turned to Helen and called her a cock blocker. Yes a very bad thing to say. I say that with total facetiousness.

If I said to Helen, ‘Nice ribbon, you are such a nigger’ or if I say to Christina, the same thing, only saying, ‘You are such a spic’ There’d be hell to pay. I don’t say those words. They are hateful words that I rejected ages ago hearing them fall from my parents mouths at various times growing up.

I have been called Nigger more times than I have ever said it. And I’ve been called that hundreds of times. I despise the word, evil and hateful.

But there is no problem calling me a fag. Helen and I were friends once, but when Hope arrived on the scene that all changed, and Helen stopped being close. It turned into a high school type atmosphere. Only there is no guidance counselor to turn to. I have no one in my corner at work to help me out.

Helen suggested going out for some coffee with her after she said that, but I don’t have her job. Helen and the Persian bitch have been routinely going out for coffee most days, I don’t have that option. Plus after what she said, what makes her think I would want anything to do with her? We aren’t close friends anymore, we are coworkers. That’s it.

She is truly a stupid fuck. So she walks up to me as I’m getting ready to go home and she says we should go for coffee next week. I say no. She says she didn’t mean to say what she said. I said, it’s too late, she said it. It’s over. She actually cries, she seems contrite. I cannot deal with this bullshit anymore. These fucking bitches say anything they want to me, and if I say anything in return, the waterworks go on.

The bosses believe them anyway. I am shit in their eyes. But they’re so fucking stupid, they don’t see how the office can’t run without me. Initially it would be a problem, probably for a few weeks, maybe a month till they figure out what it is that I do. They really have no clue. Christina, my assistant, by the way is useless. I’ve been carrying her.

I walked home, down Park Ave, smoking my cigar, fuming along with the tobacco. I played Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen and the bladder moved right behind my eyes, but I was strong. No one wants to see a 6’2” guy smoking a cigar bawling his eyes out. I know I wouldn’t.

Hooked up with a Rasta pal from back in the day and rode the PATH home, reading about Man Ray and wishing I was no longer working for such a shit firm.

Also the job that I interviewed with four people on 12/8 and one more on 12/12 went to someone else.

It’s all fear and loathing with these assholes.

FUCK THIS SHIT.

Ever have one of those days when it feels like everything is going wrong? Ever have a week of those days? How about a month? Well that’s how it’s been lately. No, it hasn’t been all darkness but man the light shining seems to be so rare these days. Hit by a crippling wave of depression at the tail end of the day.

Hard to force a smile. Hard to get into that Holiday Spirit when so lacking in spirit. Financial woes, work woes. It’s a wonder that I haven’t taken up drinking. Actually did split a bottle of wine with Julio last night, but he seemed to have gotten more of a buzz from it than I did. I had Bill on my mind, and I had bills on my mind.

I’m sure it would feel different in November or January. But it’s now, and here I am. I am getting fucked by my job. At least they’re using a condom, but the condom is made of sandpaper.

A memo was distributed last month stating that the bonuses will be handed out today. Everyone got theirs, except for me and Christina.

True, we get paid every other Friday, and everyone gets paid on the 15th and the 30th, but we both were expecting a check today, and another one tomorrow. But this was not to be of course. And the people in charge of this were out today. How bloody fucking convenient.

So money expected was not received. We’ll have to hang in there for a few more hours I suppose but what was promised was not delivered. There was that, there was having to sign 200 holiday cards for a director in an affiliated company. That wasn’t so bad, because I like those people. They gave me a box of Godiva Biscotti, which I gave to the cleaning woman at work

It wasn’t all bleak though. I took some snapshots. If it weren’t for art, I’d probably go nuts.

2006 around the corner. Will it be a better year? That would be nice but my hopes aren’t going to be held that high.

One of my favorite people, Tony who makes my egg sandwiches once a week. A great decent man. I don’t kid myself about my ‘bond’ with him since we chat no more than maybe 10 minutes a week. He always asks for Bill and we chat during the warmer weather about those hot chicks that wear less.

I do my straight bit, and I guess he buys it.
Then again he always asks about Bill. So maybe he does have a clue.

I was supposed to go to a holiday party for Seven Stories Press in Tribeca with Bill’s wonderful cousin Hiram. Bill wasn’t going to make it since he had his own holiday party to go to, so I opted to join Hiram, but as the day wore on and the depression set in, I decided against it. I texted Bill to let him know.

I think Bill felt that Lewis Lapham, Kurt Vonnegut, Art Buchwald, Barry Crimmins and Paul Krassner were going to reprise their Evening of American Satire or at least show up at the party but I had my doubts. Then in the midst of texting, Hiram’s sister Carmen, told Bill to tell me not to go since Hiram wouldn’t be attending. Crazy weather in South Jersey and not worth the drive.

Fine. I had a party with dear Brenda who I work with at the hotel across the street from work. I stood outside in the light sleet having a smoke when a woman in a hooded jacket asked me what the time was. ‘Almost 6:30’ I said.

Then I noticed it was Rue McClanahan. I asked if I could trouble her to take her picture and she obliged.

See? It wasn’t so bad after all.

Had a few drinks with Brenda, no food, the lines were so long. Like peasants getting free milk. Then I escorted Brenda back to the office and walked down 5th Avenue, smoking my cigar.