It’s Tuesday and man is it creeping to hump day, though since I was told that Thursday is going to be my last day while getting paid for Friday, so hump day might have occurred around 3:47PM. It was a crawling and appalling day. The usual drill first, wake up, darkness, shower, coffee, cereal, seeing Bill of to work and finally me off to work. It wasn’t too cold this morning as I played Gang of Four, ‘Entertainment’ walking to the Path train. Scored another seat on the train, things are looking up. Taking advantage of pregnant women who have to stand works every time. And yes, I’m being facetious.

She wasn’t pregnant. She was blind. She didn’t know there was an empty seat. I politely ignored all the angry, disgusted stares from my fellow passengers and sat there reading the New Yorker. I’m two weeks behind and I need to catch up. I did wish there was an edition in Braille so that the blind woman hugging the pole in front of me could enjoy the latest piece by David Sedaris. It was quite funny. All that was missing was a song by Wynton Marsalis. He has such a great voice.

Work was drudgery and I occasionally wrestled with fear and guilt. Fear about going to a new job, and guilt about leaving this job. The guilt passed like gas after a pound of broccoli. There was the usual operations meeting, it being a Tuesday afternoon and all. Since everyone knew I was leaving there were a few questions and the oddest thing would happen. Whenever I would answer their questions they would talk over me and drown me out. Mark who used to be ‘cool’ was question why I was ordering so many supplies and I had to explain to him that it so they wouldn’t be caught short after I left.

He couldn’t wrap his brain around that and I had to break it down even more. Eventually I got through to him and everyone else but it certainly wasn’t easy. I am trying to leave McMann and Tate with no hard feelings which is awfully big of me. There are a few people that I will miss, but the job is way too stressful for me to stay. And the lack of coherence doesn’t help at all. I kept on keeping on, doing my job with one eye on the clock and the other eye on the door.

McMann and Tate’s Holiday party is Thursday and I’ve been very ambivalent about the whole thing. One thing is that it starts at 8:00 at a gallery on Broadway. I get out of work at 5:30, so I’d be left hanging around for 2 and a half hours. The other part is that it has a James Bond, Casino Royale theme so the guys have to dress like James Bond characters and the women have to dress like high priced call girls. Which for most of them isn’t too far a stretch. It would be weird for me to go.

What do the reader(s) think. I’d like your input. No, really I would. Please let me know if you think I should go to the party. Post a comment, damn it. Why am I the one doing all the writing?

After a fun weekend, Mondays are generally a drag and working at McMann and Tate really makes it a drag. I was in a good mood though, despite Bill being sick most of the night with a head cold and I believe my pillows are trying to kill me. Bill has been a nonstop drip drip drip of mucous. Tissues are suddenly a scarce commodity in the apartment. I don’t mind looking after him, since he’s so helpless. To his credit he was able to go to an audition and pick up a new computer chair at Office Depot this afternoon.

I woke up in darkness again, with Bill sleeping, snoring and wheezing. He wasn’t going anywhere so I stumbled about, making coffee and jumping into the shower. I found a pair of clean blue jeans to wear and since the temperature was inching towards 60 degrees I opted for the 5 dollar Target shirt I bought over the summer. Got on the Path train which had a seat waiting for me. Got off at Ninth Street and got my bagel, walking down Sixth Avenue, for what could be one of the last times in the early hours of the work day.

Picked up the free morning papers from the bruthas by the IFC film center (formerly the Waverly Theater), poked my head in to see if the new Mojo was on sale yet and it wasn’t. I was able to pick up Uncut and The Word at Virgin on Saturday before going to work at Farfetched. The Word, which I never bought before had an excellent interview with Tom Waits. If you see it, snap it up. Great photographs by Anton Corbijn as well. Why is it that the Brits have much better music magazines that the US? The days of Trouser Press and New York Rocker are long gone and I’m becoming a codger.

I was about to walk through the revolving door in the building when I saw the girl named after Fabric, Terry waiting for the elevator. I decided to keep walking. I did not want to be stuck in such confined quarters for any amount of time. After a very long thirty seconds she was gone and I was waiting for an elevator myself. I set up the office and checked my email when the head of McMann and Tate US stopped by. He said he heard about my leaving and asked what I had planned. He said he wanted to talk to me about my leaving, maybe we could have lunch, or drinks. Whatevs.

He’s a day late and a dollar short but I went along with his idea. The day proceeded as every soul crushing day went before it. Clients in, double chinned account managers underestimating the amount of guests making me leave the office to find additional sandwiches, and sodas. I didn’t mind. Any time away from the office is good time. I was sitting at my desk in a short sleeved shirt when various reptiles came up to me complaining about how cold it was. I raised the temperature to 32 Celsius, which is 90 Fahrenheit. And still they complained.

My coworkers had their lunch in the kitchen and still can’t find the garbage pails. Today’s record was over an hour for a box of take away rice to be thrown out after sitting on the counter. I left after setting the office up with beer and wine so they can wrap their holiday gifts for under privileged families. They seem to be horrid beast all year so this one act of charity, which can be expensed by the way, makes up for being douche bags all year round.