Typing earlier than usual, not dictating on this Christmas Eve 2025. Not much is going on. I am waiting for a FedEx delivery of Bill’s gifts. Mike is at his crib, more than likely looking at porn or shooting videos of himself. The videos that we make aren’t porn, and they could be described as erotic, and that might be a stretch.

Bill’s plan for being on the road is still up in the air; he knows just as much today as he did last night. It’s quiet here in my apartment. Harry Potter is on. Bill calls it comfort food. So, I wait for a delivery. They say a 2:30 delivery, but you know how that goes. I do have to go to the supermarket, but feel housebound until then.

It’s a bit of a drag, overall. I’m dressed and ready. All revved up with nowhere to go. I keep looking at the FedEx tracking, and nothing changes. I want to get Elaine a plant, and I’m fairly certain they have them at the supermarket. I did go to a store in Hoboken the other day, but could not find anything I wanted to buy, and the salesman was helping someone else.

I spoke with my brother Brian the other day. That was fun. We reminisced about our neighbors growing up and also about the jobs we both had at different times. He was close to getting fired a few times, but wasn’t because our Mother, who worked in the office of the warehouse, was so well liked. And he mentioned that he showed up drunk a few times. He left the book warehouse job and worked at Pioneer Electronics in Moonachie.

I didn’t show up drunk but I was a fuck up. And I always got a pass due to my Mother’s grace. It was a double edged sword that haunts me to this day. I didn’t take the job seriously, though I did my best not to fuck up. Yet I did fuck up. I would pick orders, either listening to music or singing.

My not taking the job seriously led me to not take any job too seriously. Well, sometimes I did take things seriously, but inevitably I would be cheeky and silly. It’s been like that since 1978, and here I am in 2025 with mostly the same mindset I had 47 years ago.

Once I started smoking pot, it did get worse somewhat. By that time, I was not picking orders, but driving back and forth from Saddle Brook, NJ, to Manhattan twice a day. I was high most of the time. My friend Rand, whom I worked with, did tell me everyone knew I was high. My own Mother probably knew, but she was in denial.

It was a simpler time back then. I was living with my folks. Still in the closet. I did meet Jet Watley in the Manhattan offices, and would drive him home up by the George Washington Bridge through Central Park with joints burning most of the time.

Nowadays, I wait until later in the afternoon to light up. I get more accomplished throughout the day, but I still fuck up every now and then, but not with the same regularity I had 47 years ago.

Or so I’d like to think…