Sunday morning Liberty State Park
I’m out earlier than usual. Rain is in the forecast for this afternoon and I need to cycle away my dramas both inside and out.
Electrical dilemma
Mike coming over not coming over
Bill rehearsing his lines
New position
A Great Galapagos goofball
Melatonin lemonade garbage bags
Carl Jung talking about narcissism and empaths. Guess which one I am?
The end of sexual relations with what’s his name
Empaths and narcissists. I am an empath so I think and I also think I’m surrounded by narcissists. I just viewed a documentary from Carl Jung talking about that subject. It’s just about everything Carl Jung said I related to 100% Bill and to a greater extent Mike are narcissists. I suppose I’m used to building a narcissist for 25 years but with Mike it’s different.
I have only known him personally since November 2024 and he’s younger than us. Though a lot more than Bill and I have and man does he control the situation by his power of his narcissism and then to see Mike’s narcissism defer to Bill’s narcissism and I just sit there taking it all in.
Just wandered around Hoboken and stopped by the dispensary where I thought RoDa was working but he’s not he’s probably in his crib and I’m walking by his building right now but I am a sweaty horse.
Last night Bill and I had a heavy discussion with Mike about all things it seems to be the end of when aspect of our relationship of course I can change any day but right now it’s like I am keeping him at arm’s length for my own good.
And Bill is wrapped up in the play that he’s opening up on August 22nd and they have to learn his lines and be off book by Wednesday so he’s stressed about that and have it absolutely nothing to do with me last night despite my apologies earlier in the day when I was outside in the heat the planning about the lack of electricity in our apartment while he sat in the air conditioned bus trying to do his characters lines.
I went to the closing party for Bob Berts art show at 5:03 social club I was there for less than 5 minutes and did the perfect Irish exit courtesy of my phone and a non-existing phone call.
I did my bicycle ride a few hours early this morning usually I leave at the end of Golden Girls. Today I left before 10:30 I was home by 12:15. it was a good ride to clear the head somewhat and enabled me to focus my thoughts.
Now I’m walking home. I know Bill’s not home yet so it should be good for a few minutes until he does show up. Who knows what mood he’ll be in. I do think he’s thinking something he’s taking days to think of he’s going to pop the usual old school quote “you know I’ve been thinking about this…”
And then he’ll tell me what it is he’s thinking about and say what do you think and like I said 20 years ago I think you’ve been thinking about this for a few days and I think you’re only giving me a minute to think about it.
I could be wrong, I’d like to be wrong, I hope I’m wrong, I generally am wrong.
I had a phone call from Connie’s sister Jennifer, who told me Connie wasn’t doing too well. I mean when I saw her name on my phone I thought the worst but it’s not the worst yet. It’s Connie’s not doing too well and she seems to be taking on dementia so much so the people in the home that she’s living at called Jennifer and told her that she’s talking to the air conditioner. When Jennifer asked Connie about it, Connie said they kept interrupting. She was having a lovely, beautiful conversation with me, John O’Toole, and Jennifer just needed to tell me that.
This is the Monday post of the Sunday edition.
So Bill was fed up with listening to me sing the same song that I’ve been singing for the past 22 years with regards to our wonderful landlord and the super that lives in our building. Bill is working on a play that’s opening up in a couple of weeks so he’s got that on his mind and he was driving people that were driving him crazy and that was on his mind and then he last thing he needed was me bellyaching.
This dictation method used to be so good last month this month it’s crap. Things have also gotten better between me and Mike; he is quite the narcissist, whereas I am quite the empath, and I say that knowing that he will not understand what that means if he ever read this blog, which he does not.
Rain was expected yesterday afternoon, so I was determined to get my bike right in, and so I left around 10:30 a.m.
It was a good ride to Liberty State Park, too early to get cigars, and I was home by 12:15. I showered, took it easy, and then decided they’re around 4:00 after I had eaten to go see Bob Bert’s closing party for his photo show. I was there for about 5 minutes and was able to successfully complete an Irish exit.
But it was so damn hot that the shirt I was wearing almost went see-through. I trawled my way up to ShopRite, did some other shopping, was home and did nothing, and waited for Bill to come home, where we had our nice talk.
Work today is okay, I got my stuff done. Now it is very hot and I sit in the shade once again smoking a mini cigar.
Marcus was reassuring that I would do fine on Wednesday, working at the older office, which was a nice pat on the back, basically, I have nothing to worry about.
The Gemini rewrite as a Woody Allen essay
Sunday morning. Liberty State Park. You know, you wake up, and it’s not even a question of “should I get out of bed?” but “what fresh hell awaits?” The forecast calls for rain, which, frankly, is just the universe’s way of saying, “Yeah, you thought you’d catch a break? Think again, pal.” So, I’m out on the bike, earlier than usual, pedaling away, trying to outrun the dramas, both the ones rattling around in my head and the ones, you know, just generally… existing.
—
### The Grand Circus of Existential Dread
First, there’s the **electrical dilemma**. Is Mike coming over? Is he not coming over? It’s like a Beckett play, but with more flickering lights and less clarity. Then there’s Bill, bless his theatrical heart, **rehearsing his lines**. As if the world needed more drama.
And me? I’m just here, trying to navigate this new position, feeling like **a great Galapagos goofball** in a sea of… well, you know. And my mind, it just keeps churning through the detritus of daily life: melatonin, lemonade, garbage bags. It’s a veritable still life of neuroses.
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### Narcissists and the Unfortunate Empath (That’s Me)
Speaking of churning, I recently stumbled upon this Carl Jung documentary, all about narcissism and empaths. And wouldn’t you know it, it resonated. Every single word. Like he was peeking into my living room, taking notes. Guess which one I am? Go on, take a guess. If you said the **empath**, give yourself a gold star. And if you guessed that I’m surrounded by the other kind? Well, you’ve clearly met my friends.
Bill, for instance. Twenty-five years of it. You get used to it, like a nagging cough you can’t quite shake. But then there’s Mike. Only known him since November 2024, the younger one, but oh, the power of his narcissism. It’s like a force field. And then, the true masterpiece of human interaction: Mike’s narcissism actually **deferring to Bill’s narcissism**. It’s a hierarchy of self-absorption, and I, the humble empath, am merely an observer, taking it all in, probably with some latent digestive issues.
—
### The Great Hoboken Walkabout and Other Minor Tragedies
So, I pedaled. Then I wandered. Ended up by the dispensary, because where else does one go when one is contemplating the meaning of it all? Thought RoDa might be there, but no, probably in his crib, oblivious. I passed his building, a sweaty horse, feeling the existential weight of, well, just being a sweaty horse.
Last night, though. That was a doozy. A “heavy discussion” with Mike and Bill. It felt like the end of an era, a phase, a… well, you know. I’m keeping him at arm’s length now, for my own sanity. Because, let’s be honest, sanity is a fleeting commodity these days.
Bill, meanwhile, is consumed by his play, opening August 22nd. Lines to learn, off-book by Wednesday. The stress, the sheer agony of it all. And me? Sitting in the heat, trying to sort out our apartment’s lack of electricity, while he’s in an air-conditioned bus, honing his craft. The sheer injustice of it all. I apologized earlier, you see, for my mere existence, for daring to have a problem that wasn’t directly related to his theatrical masterpiece.
Then there was Bob Burt’s art show closing party. Five minutes. Less. The perfect **Irish exit**, courtesy of a phantom phone call. A masterstroke, if I do say so myself.
—
### The Wisdom of Hindsight (and Bill’s Anticipated Monologue)
The bike ride, though. A small victory. Earlier than usual, before the “Golden Girls” marathon could fully take hold. Home by 12:15. A good ride. Cleared the head. Somewhat. Enabled me to focus. Which, let’s be honest, is a monumental task these days.
Now, I’m walking home. Bill’s not there yet. A few precious moments of peace. But I know it’s coming. The pre-packaged monologue. “You know, I’ve been thinking about this…” He’ll drop it on me, something he’s been mulling for days, and then expect me to process it in sixty seconds flat. Like twenty years ago. “You’ve been thinking about this for days,” I’ll want to say, “and you give me a minute to react?” But I won’t. Because, well, it’s Bill.
I could be wrong. I’d like to be wrong. I hope I’m wrong. I generally am wrong.
—
### Connie and the Air Conditioner: A Modern Parable
And then, a call from Jennifer, Connie’s sister. My heart, it did that thing it does when you see an unexpected name on the caller ID. The worst. But not the worst. Just… Connie. Not doing so well. Dementia. Talking to the air conditioner. And when Jennifer asked her about it, Connie said the staff kept interrupting. “She was having a lovely, beautiful conversation with John O’Toole.” You can’t make this stuff up. It’s like a Woody Allen film, but with less intellectual angst and more appliance-based dialogue.
—
### The Post-Sunday Post-Mortem
So, here we are. Monday. The post of the Sunday edition. Bill, fed up, as usual, with my landlord laments. Twenty-two years of the same song. He’s got his play, his people driving him crazy. My bellyaching? The last thing he needs.
And my dictation method? Last month, it was Shakespeare. This month, it’s… well, it’s not Shakespeare. Things with Mike, though, they’ve gotten better. He’s the narcissist, I’m the empath. A classic pairing. He wouldn’t understand, of course, if he ever read this blog. Which he doesn’t.
The rain. It was supposed to come yesterday. So, I was determined. Bike ride. 10:30 a.m. Liberty State Park. Too early for cigars. Home by 12:15. Showered. Lounged. Then, at 4:00, the Bob Bert show. Five minutes. Irish exit. Nailed it.
But the heat. The shirt, practically transparent. Dragged myself to ShopRite. More shopping. Home. Did nothing. Waited for Bill. And then, our “nice talk.” Which, you know, was… a talk.
Work today. It was fine. Got my stuff done. And now, I’m sitting in the shade, smoking a mini-cigar. Marcus, bless his soul, was reassuring about Wednesday, the old office. “Nothing to worry about,” he said. A pat on the back. It’s the small victories, you see, that keep us going. That, and the knowledge that at some point, the air conditioner might just have something truly profound to say.