Don’t think twice, it’s alright
Hindsight is 20/20, it’s true. It doesn’t lessen any pain or discomfort, though it allows you to see it clearly than you have been able to previously.
It’s September 7th, it’s a Monday, it’s a blue sky, it’s a little bit cooler out than I was hoping for, but I have dressed accordingly.
The weekend was less than adequate. I didn’t do things that I hoped to do, not including writing a bicycle on Sundays, which I’ve been doing for a few months. Yesterday was a little bit overcast and cloudy, and in the back of my mind I was thinking I could do it earlier than usual, but it was not to be.
I know I’ve said it before, but I feel I am at the end of my tether with regards to most things. Life, Bill’s play, Mike, a whole bunch of stuff.
Well, we know why Mike got his favored nation status, but since he decided not to maintain that status, which was contingent on physicality, I suppose he has nothing to offer except taking up couch space.
It was humorous yesterday, we were going to see Bill in the final performance of Postal Madness. We got on the bus, which I paid for, and sat in the back, and there was a seat diagonal from me, which he was initially sitting in, and decided he wanted to sit behind me so he could look out the window.
As the bus rolled onward, I stole a glance a few times and saw that he wasn’t looking out the window at all. He was looking at his phone, and then by the time we got to Manhattan, his phone was down to 10%. By the time we got to the play, it was down to 1%.
When he was enjoying favored nation status, I was looking into getting him a portable charger for his phone, which would have done him well. I looked into it for myself, I figured I’ll get one for me and one for him, but now I’ll just only get one for myself.
I sent Bill the photograph of me sitting in the chair on the bus, and Mike sitting behind me, and Bill immediately thought that there was bad blood between Mike and me. I reassured him that it was all good.
The photograph does say a lot, though sums up the essence of our current friendship. I’m not going to do anything, I’m just going to let the friendship, which is on a medium flame, go to a low flame and perhaps go out.
But right now on September 7th, Monday afternoon, that is the plan.
Despite all that, we did enjoy each other’s company. There’s nothing major and we elbowed each other watching the play for the second time, and remember how we felt about it the first time in the second time made it a little bit more funny our reactions, not the play.
I think, going forward, if Mike requests to come over, I’ll refer to Bill. In the midst of all that, I’m at the edge of depression. Not really the edge, but I see i,t and I see how I could easily succumb to it.
The whole sex thing seems to run its course for me. Not going to pursue it, Mike was something that fell into my lap, and it was fun for a while until it wasn’t. And I’m not going to help Mike pursue anything that he wants to pursue. I’ve done enough.
I have given him pots and pans and utensils and cups, I have paid his phone bill, I paid his bus fare, I’ve paid his Lyft fare, I have done his laundry, I have cooked him dinner… But no more. He could call me, but I’m not about to call him. Though I just called him and got his voicemail.
And I am grateful that he doesn’t read this here blog.
Bill and I have discussed how child-like he is, Mike. And I, for one, I’m finding it tiresome. The line of communication will remain open, but not go in both directions.
It’s funny in an odd way, but meeting up with Mike reopened a door that I had closed with regard to sex. Now the doors are slowly closing once more. I see hypocrisy in this awkward untruth. Having been a liar myself back in the day, I can recognize things like that.
Of course, this could all change in a moment. And by chang,e I mean I have no idea.
He has thanked me for all that I have done for him. He has thanked Bill and me for all that we have done for him. So I guess he is appreciative.
At work, I am reviewing a document that Jimmy Chile has sent me with regards to development objectives. I, of course, don’t have any, so I have to come up with something. Jimmy has given me a heads-up, and I could use his notes to create my own. Ideally, it would be so much better at the fruit stand to pick me up for permanent hire, but this West Coast employment agency / real estate firm seems to have other ideas.
I am so looking forward to going home and going to bed at a decent hour tonight and maybe getting a good night’s sleep.
Google Gemini AI, a rewrite as a letter from Arthur Conan Doyle:
My Dearest Reader,
Pray, forgive the liberty of this letter, but as I find myself pondering the curious affairs of man, my thoughts turn to you as a most trusted confidant. It is a peculiar sort of clarity that accompanies hindsight, is it not? A veritable 20/20 vision, as some might say. Yet, as with a well-lit stage, one merely perceives the scene more starkly; the pain remains, though now without shadow or doubt.
The date is the 7th of September, a Monday, and a rather brisk one at that. The sky above is a flawless azure, though it holds more of an autumnal chill than I had hoped. Still, I am a man who anticipates the whims of the elements and have dressed accordingly. The weekend, I must confess, was a most unsatisfying affair. My intended pursuits went quite unfulfilled, save for the weekly constitutional upon my bicycle, a habit I have cultivated over these past months. Yesterday, the air was heavy with clouds, and though I entertained the notion of an early ride, the opportunity simply did not present itself.
My patience, I fear, is reaching its absolute limit. I find myself at the end of my tether with so many things—life itself, Bill’s wretched play, and, I must be frank, a certain Mr. Mike. He was once afforded a most peculiar “favored nation” status, a privilege tied, I gather, to his physical presence. As that presence seems to have waned, he has reverted to little more than a piece of unmoving furniture upon my divan.
A most droll incident occurred yesterday. We were en route to witness the final performance of Bill’s play, *Postal Madness*. I had the foresight to pay for our passage on the omnibus, and we settled in the back. Mike, initially seated catty-corner from me, declared his desire to move behind me so that he might gaze out the window. It became a source of some amusement for me to observe him, as I stole several glances, only to find he was not looking out the window at all, but rather staring intently into that modern marvel, his telephone. By the time we reached the city, its power was a mere 10%, and upon arriving at the theatre, a final 1%. How I once considered procuring him a portable charger, a device that would have been most useful, I can’t quite fathom. I had intended to purchase one for us both. Now, I shall purchase one for myself alone.
I sent a photograph to Bill, a rather telling image of me seated in my chair with Mike looking over my shoulder, which led him to believe there was some sort of animosity between us. I assured him all was well, though I must confess, the photograph does rather capture the essence of our current association. I have decided to do nothing at all. I shall simply allow this friendship, which has been simmering upon a medium flame, to descend to a lower heat and, perhaps, extinguish itself altogether.
Despite all this, we did manage to enjoy ourselves. It was nothing grand, but we found ourselves nudging one another as we watched the play for a second time, finding our reactions from the first viewing made it all the more comical now. I believe, going forward, should Mr. Mike request my company, I shall simply refer him to Bill. Amidst all this, I find myself standing on the precipice of a great depression. I can see its shape, and I understand how easily I might surrender to it. The entire affair of sexual companionship, I must admit, seems to have run its course for me. Mr. Mike was an unexpected turn of events, a brief, enjoyable diversion that has now ceased to be. I find I have no desire to assist him in any further pursuits of his own. I have done more than enough.
I have given him pots and pans, utensils, and cups. I have paid his telephone bill, his omnibus fare, and his carriage fees. I have done his laundry and cooked his meals. But no more. He may call me if he wishes, but I shall not initiate contact. Oddly enough, I tried to reach him a moment ago, only to be sent to his voice message. I am, however, exceedingly grateful that he does not read this chronicle of my thoughts.
Bill and I have often commented on his childlike demeanor, which I am finding to be an increasing weariness. The line of communication shall remain open, but I will no longer be the one to keep it so. It is a strange and humorous thing to consider how my encounter with Mike reopened a door I had long since closed. Now, I feel those same hinges slowly creaking shut once more. I am a student of human nature, and having been a teller of untruths in my past, I can recognize the awkward hypocrisy and falsehood in this situation. Of course, all of this could change in an instant; I have no idea what the future holds.
He has, to his credit, thanked me for my kindness. He has thanked Bill and me for our collective efforts. So I suppose there is some measure of gratitude in his heart.
At present, I find myself at work, reviewing a document from a Mr. Jimmy Chile concerning “development objectives.” I have none of my own, and so I am forced to conjure some out of thin air. Jimmy has been kind enough to provide me with his own notes, which I shall use as a guide. I hold out hope that my efforts at this “fruit stand” might yet lead to a permanent position, but this West Coast agency seems to be of a different mind entirely.
I confess, I am filled with anticipation for the simple pleasures of the evening: to return home at a decent hour, to retire, and perhaps, with a bit of luck, to secure a good night’s sleep.
Yours in thought,
A.C.D.