December 11th, 2025, a Thursday. So I am committed to going to this party and have to figure out how to fill two hours between me leaving the office and the start of the party.

That’s my biggest dilemma; other than that, everything seems to be okay. Mike asked me to call him last night before I went to bed, and so I did, and of course, I got his voicemail because he never answers his phone if he’s shooting videos or photographs

I’m in no rush to call him, and I have not, in fact, I have my phone on do not disturb, so even if he calls me, he cannot get through. It’s just been a slow, cold day, and time is moving quietly.

I did send a text about an hour ago to Mike, to which he has not responded, which is fine with me I do not know if he is coming over tonight.

There is a plan to get halal food for lunch, so I will probably do that after I visit the local cigar shop to buy a cigar to smoke on my way to the party. My plan is to finish work at 5:00, fart around here until 6:00 p.m., and then walk up to 53rd Street, which is basically about 40 blocks.

It was a plan for Mike to come over tonight, but I have no idea where that plan stands. He’s not communicating with me, and I communicated at 10:45 last night.

Are these little games that we’re playing? Am I being petty? I do know I’m very much depressed. And don’t know how to get out of it. I slept very well last night, went to bed around 10:45, and woke up before the alarm clock.

So the fruit stand holiday event is where I expected it to be, where the new music seminar was held in the 90s, where I had a Meetup with a suit and cigar guy in the early 2000s at 53rd Street and 7th Avenue

My current plan is to walk up, taking my time, up Fifth Avenue, enjoying us ago and perhaps a free world that I got for free from the local dispensary in Hoboken.

There is quite a malaise in my head just now, thinking of how I used to walk up from Farfetched on Fourth Avenue up to the Port Authority bus terminal, where I would enjoy a cigar and a smoke.

It was usually on a Saturday or Sunday night, and I’d walk up through Madison Square Park area, and the place would be deserted, and I very much enjoyed it nowadays, it’s crowded with young somethings doing whatever it is they do.

But that was then, this is now, and if Lois and Susan can get over what happened to Farfetched and I certainly can as well. I just don’t know what it is, some sadness, some depression, some confusion, some dread (existential).

I’m sure a lot of it has to do with Bill not being around, and the latest development is my lack of interest in anyone else sexually, including Shorty. Shorty doesn’t know that yet. He has not reached out to their phone, just texted me a picture of himself, so I’ll be a cigar in a blue robe and a dirty jock, which turns on a lot of guys but not me.

If he comes over tonight, that would be fine, although I doubt I will be awake for much of it. Without communication, nothing is planned, and if nothing is planned, nothing could get done. He claims he’s looking forward to coming over, it’s just a claim, and it was in a text, so who knows?

Anise, Marcus, and a few coworkers are meeting at a bar for drinks before the event, and I’m not much of a drinker, so I’m going to pass and focus on my Irish exit.

I went to the fruit stand party, and it was nice. The Irish exit worked. Home before 9 PM. WTF?