I am in that Limbo area. Purgatory. The Bardo. Looking for a new job while dreading having to start all over again at a new job. It usually crops up on a Monday and that is where I am right now. Bill has returned, and Mike is back in his crib.

Things are OK. They could always be better. I’ve been sleeping well since Bill has returned. Last night I had a dream where I was a Luigi Mangione type, then I was in a movie about Luigi Mangione starring Oscar Issac.

When I was the Luigi Mangione type I had started a fire, which was a fireball. I ran around shutting doors making sure that damage was minimal. I am pretty sure that the dream took place in a compilation of offices I had worked in. I was on the run and lucky that I had quite a few people helping me out.

Some people were not though. I was climbing trees in a very suburban area of Washington Heights, Inwood, or the other side of Lodi where I grew up. That is where I was climbing trees. I was grateful for the help I was getting and did go back to the scene of the crime.

There was an intermission when I had to go to the bathroom and was able to get back into the dream somewhat, but this time it was the same location but I was about to go on stage with a weird version of the Rolling Stones. I didn’t see their faces as we waited in a hallway to get on stage.

I think Oscar Issac was in that dream as well. There were still vestiges of the fireball dream but this seemed to be a reboot of sorts. I had seen a photograph of Oscar Issac and Pedro Pascal cuddling earlier in the day so that is probably where Oscar Issac came from.

Plus I noticed that Ex Machina was on TV though I did not watch it having seen it before. It’s a very good movie but I was not in the mood. I think Oscar Issac is very easy on the eyes. I do prefer him to Pedro Pascal, not to denigrate Pedro at all.

The spam calls are coming in this morning. Two calls in five minutes. Neither left a message. I called back both numbers, one replied the other did not. I told the one reply (who was in Virginia) to send me an email with the info and they haven’t yet. I doubt if they will.

So it’s a Monday which is a drag if you are working and even worse if you are not, and I am not.

I may have given up on the concept of doing a podcast or a series of YouTube videos. It’s been a while since I had even thought about it, and there was no support at all from anyone. By support, I also mean anyone that I talked to about this concept and there were no queries or input about it.

Maybe it is dead, maybe it isn’t. I am also beginning to realize that I will have to aim lower for the salary and jobs that I have been trying for. A bitter pill to swallow and I still resent the pieces of shit at Bratty McGrotty.

Saturday 46°. Hanging with Mike. Bill is steadily heading home. Last night was out of the ordinary. The day was not that good. Plans made with Mike fell through which did not make me feel good and that was a cloud hanging over my head. Nothing that he did, just a victim of circumstance, out of his control since he was controlled by something else.

I did my usual thing, a trip to the supermarket where I bought more than my bag could handle. Then the despair of looking for a job for myself, looking for a job for Mike, and looking at Bill on the road. I decided to make dinner for myself, the Saturday menu. I made enough for two but ate for one and put the rest in the fridge.

I decided to attend a cigar social in Manhattan. There was a plan to do it in December with Bill and Mike when we did the Rockefeller Xmas tree thing but the weather was cold and wet and miserable. Since there was nothing to do last night I took it upon myself to go by myself. The weather was good, cool it was not raining and there was no real reason not to.

Being a senior citizen in the eyes of NJ Transit meant my fare was $1.75. I rode the bus to the Port Authority, looking like a thick Mick, cable sweater, blue jeans, work boots, and a pea coat. I looked good. I trod across town, retracing routes that I used to use when going to work, a walk down 41st Street to Bryant Park, to Grand Central Station for a shortcut of sorts, winding up on Lexington Ave.

I rolled a joint and lit up as I approached East 49th Street to pay respects to Stephen Sondheim’s former residence. Then it was up five blocks, up Second Avenue to Casa de Montecristo where there were a few online cigar buddies, Jack and the one and only Von Harris. I bought 2 cigars to join the festivities.

I had some Woodford Reserve that was supplied by Jack MacCullum the host. There were other liquors available but I wisely had the one that I had the last time I was at this location 13 years ago. I may have written about it back then. We sat and chatted, with Jack, Sean, Von, and his roommate Tawana.

It was a smoky establishment but no one cared. It was fairly crowded with some good looking gents coming and going. I was quite charming I must say and happy that Jack had gotten most, if not all, of my jokes. That was an intellectual turn-on.

Sean had left and I was soon to go after that, making my farewells to a group that I made friends with just 90 minutes earlier. The Woodford Reserve left me with a warm, pleasant buzz and I headed home, looking like someone that you wouldn’t want to fuck with.

I walked down to the PATH train before the 11 PM changeover so it was a not too crowded train to Hoboken. The worst of it was returning to Hoboken with young drunkards being loud and rowdy on the streets, coming close to starting trouble and shouting at various passersby.

My armor of the ‘Don’t Fuck with Me’ look worked quite well. I came home and spoke with Bill on the phone as well as a call with Mike. The second cigar in my pocket vanished somewhere and I’m not sure exactly where. I’d like to think it was here in the apartment but it seems unlikely as I grumbled like Roy Kent, saying ‘Fuck’ every now and then.