Racism. It’s in my bones. It’s in my DNA. How could it not be? I am a product of a racist system, surrounded by racist people, brought up in a racist school system.

Lately, communication at the fruit stand has been fleeting. Yesterday was a day when workers had to attend a volunteer effort or something. I was not told of this until after the fact, which was the reason I needed to watch the camera for the other fruit stand a few blocks away.

Today, there was a change to the schedule I sent out on Monday. Yancey, who was here this morning and works at the main hive, informed me that the main person I sent the email to was no longer with the building.

Of course, I get this message days after the fact from someone who works blocks away, and not someone who works on a floor below.

I usually dictate to the phone, but today I am texting with my thumbs. It’s going well I think but I would prefer to have used a keyboard and screen.

I came home last night, not in the best mood nor in the worst. Bill was busy cleaning up the apartment somehow, and I am sure he started doing it mere minutes before I arrived.

I asked if company was expected, and he said no, he was cleaning because he had to work tomorrow. I mentioned that I didn’t know that he was working, and he responded in a manner I found off-putting.

I was somewhat taken aback by that and shut down more or less, festering in my heartfelt miasma. It was not a good look for me. Bill seemed oblivious to it, as well as forgetting about the overhead light, which is best used if no other lighting is available.

I silently played the role of martyr. I did suggest watching the Mel Brooks documentary by Judd Apatow, which lifted the spirits in the room, some more than others.

After that, Bill was off to bed following my lackluster wishes for a good night’s sleep. Then I called Mike. Mike and his boyfriend have started a Facebook page for cigar smoking men. Mike’s boyfriend never likes my photos, despite my half-heartedly liking his.

Then again, Mike’s boyfriend is not into white guys, though he did like another white guy’s photo. Not so much a fan of Mike’s boyfriend, not that I was before, but now there’s a reason.

Mike loves him, though, so there’s that. Personally, I am ambivalent about meeting him eventually. Mike sees it as a great meeting. They are making big plans of which I am privy to. And I would rather not be.

Things are OK with Bill. Things appear to be regarding Mike. There’s nothing major for the next hour or so, but that can all change at the drop of a hat.

Mike is scheduled to come over this weekend, but we’ve heard that before, and part of me feels it would be fine if he did not.

I was just thinking about the past, a certain friend I’ve known for decades. Some friends don’t like them, but I’ve been fond of them.

And also thinking about that plan of doing vids at 503 Social Club, with Bill and Mike. But the plan fell by the wayside due to the fact that I had to get a job. But in a relatively perfect world, I would have a grant to do such projects.

But this is not a perfect world.

And I played Talking Heads Little Creatures, and it really does not hold up.