Back to work today after a good night’s sleep. Still not feeling all that great but the relationship between Bill and myself is stronger than ever. I really do love him so and apparently I said a few of the right things to say to him when I got home on Sunday night.

I wish I can remember what they were, but until I do I’ll just play along. Last night’s sleep was quite good, had a few dreams one involving Macca, the other involving being almost killed by a crane when it dropped whatever it was that was being suspended.

In the dream I was laying on the ground looking up and realizing that it was going to fall, I moved a few feet out of the way before it came crashing down. Any dream interpretations are welcome.

I’m pretty sure standing around for 9 hours a day is doing some damage to my leg. I just sat in the man cave with my leg elevated somewhat and now it feels better. Still tonight, I won’t walk down to the bus terminal, I’ll give it up to the MTA along with my $2.25.

Listening to David Byrne’s The Catherine Wheel right now at the cigar shack and also right now I am in third sales wise.

Cassandra Wilson came into the store today. When she came in I wondered to myself if that was Cassandra Wilson and then Calvin asked her if she was who he thought she was and when she answered that she was and I was surprised to have been correct.

No jazz queer me, but Thomas who is a jazz queer had no idea who she was. She was nice and sat in the man cave, smoking cigarillos and talking with the men folk.

I was incredibly anxious about going into work today since I called in sick. Probably since I hadn’t followed the mythical corporate handbook previously, I felt they would have said something about how I dialed the phone, or the way I left a 45 second voice mail.

But no, nothing was said. In fact Marcus has the same symptoms as I did. And so did Pedro who had chicken wings to my chicken fingers on Sunday afternoon.

Does this have anything to do with the solar storms, the earthquakes, or maybe because some Christianists have predicted the world to end next month? I have to make to Thursday, my next day off as well as a meeting I am taking in the building where the Coneheads flew off from in the late 1970’s.

I doubt I will be in the same spot as Margaret Bourke White in her iconic photograph from way back when. Just about an hour left in my day here in the cigar shack. It can’t end soon enough.

I am going to try to make that 9:42 bus and ride with Bill & Hyman. That means sneaking out a little early but I really don’t care, which is the wrong attitude to have but it’s all that I got.

I caught the bus with Hyman, Bill was unable to catch the bus. He was missed.