Bill just left. It was a long day. I heard it was nice outside, but we spent most of the afternoon indoors, talking. About everything, where we were, where we’re going. Tears were shed, hugs given. It’s amazing, when I talk to Bill I am so incredibly rational. I have to be because sometimes he can be very irrational.

I mentioned a few times the fact that counselling would be a good idea, and he was a bit resistant to it. But as we talked more and more and his issues kept popping up, I think he realized that he does need help and we both need help for our relationship. He is frightened of the fact that if I see someone else for sex, I might fall in love with that person and forget about him. That is the thing in the back of my mind for a long time and told him so.

He realizes that he can’t have it both ways. I said to him that we have a lot going for us, and sex is part of the equation that is lacking. Not easy to admit, but since he doesn’t find me sexually attractive, I will have to go somewhere else. I still love him and want him in my life.

That didn’t make him happy, but I think he realized that it was he who put this all in motion. Then somehow we wound up in bed doing things we’d never done before. A few times. It was great. It was a welcome return, and we really got into it.

We were both surprised at this. A lot of stress has fallen by the wayside. I know nothing has been solved and we still got a long way to go. Bill mentioned a game him and his friend Kevin used to play, called I think, ‘When and How Many?’ It was a support game they devised for each other, either that or it came from the life affirming group that they were both in called Life Spring.

So we decided, When will be January 3, 2006 and how many will be how many visits to couples counseling will be needed, and that is an unknown variable. Perhaps we’ve turned a corner or at least reawakened sexual urges for each other. I’m sure it’s the reawakening.

I do feel relaxed. Almost mellow. Not as stressed as I’ve been. It IS work, and it IS hard work. He complained that he’s tired of work, but he’s not getting off that easy. I had to point out his hypocrisy, which though easy to do, isn’t much fun. It’s like a game of chess. Some sort of chess, I really don’t know how to play, but it seems like every move he would make or everything he would say, I’d present how invalid his view was.

And it really was. I also had to school Bill on the levels of friendship, that I have great relationships with Julio and Pedro, but I have a different, deeper relationship with him. Bill’s also worried that my friends won’t like him and try to turn me away from him. I told him that my friends care deeply for me and I for them, but they realize that it’s my life and they might not like what I do with it, ultimately the decision is mine alone.

So much has happened it’s hard to decide where to begin. So much is going on. And the funny thing is, well, that’s the sad part. The sad part is, well, that’s the funny thing. The river is calm today and with the weather being what it is, there are quite a few people out and about.

Different languages fill the air for a moment only to be replaced by a metal garbage can hitting a dumpster. A baby cries as a car in need of a muffler rumbles by, oh so slowly. A helicopter makes it way up to a heliport. Children’s feet scuff the pavement.

There are so many currents in the river making it dangerous to swim. Plus it’s also a little on the cold side. Then there is the river traffic. On nice days when it’s warmer than it is now, there are usually dozens of small craft on the murky waters.

A knife, a fork / a bottle, and a cork / that’s the way we say New York / Right on

It’s good to be out of the apartment and it’s certainly good to see you again. You look incredible. A definite improvement over the last time we saw each other. But that’s all water under the bridge, and that water is this river.

A puff of black smoke appears over the city. The dingy gray aura of air is thinner today. All that cold clean air from the north I suppose. I’m trying to remember why I came here, to be here at this moment. What compelled me to be here?

I can hear a conversation behind me, but it’s in another language, one that I don’t understand. The light for today is fading in the west, cooling everything and more as evening approaches.

The supermarket was packed with the usual Saturday animals. All young, buying cases of Corona in anticipation of a raucous evening. An employee shopping on her day off had the cashier very exasperated to the point where the cashier was saying ‘What are you? Stupid?’ Then she’d look at me as if to agree with her.

I showed indifference. I was in no rush and found the cashier’s meltdown amusing. She was rude to me a few weeks before. She probably needs a vacation or a new vocation.

And I continue on my search for a new venue for employment. On Thursday, I had an interview with a staffing agency which meant, meet Mrs. A, who will introduce me to Mrs. B and then Mrs. C.

They all agreed that I looked Polished. Of course having a copy of Nowy Dziennik under my arm probably helped. And Mrs. A liked my speaking voice, which was a first. I thought she was going to offer me voice over work, but it was more to hear what I sounded like over the phone.

I try to remain upbeat in my outlook. The old me that thought I was the perfect person and most likely the only one that saw the ad is fading fast and reality sets in. These staffing agencies post an ad and cast a net, catching fish like me, flipping and flopping.

I ought to know. I used to work at an agency. Send in a resume for one job and they’ll supposedly sign you up and look out for jobs. And with the economy being shit, there’s a lot of competition. I have the luxury of having a job while I search. I’ve been on the other side, having no job and fired up with desperation.

Sometimes I get a bit cheeky. When explaining what was happening at work to Mrs A. I mentioned that the company was partnered with the National Bank of Wishful Thinking and they were taking over. I told here that the writing was on the wall and it was in French. She laughed.

One time about a dozen years ago, I tried to get a job on Hudson Street in Hoboken. It was in a brownstone next to St. Peter and Paul School. It was a small company in one of the apartment/offices. I was buzzed in and sat next to my interviewer. She was on a personal call and I sat there looking straight ahead. Sitting next to her desk I couldn’t help but hear her call.

“I can’t believe I forgot Dad’s birthday. I mean, I never forget. What am I going to do?” and so on. After a few minutes of that she got off the phone, and started interviewing me. The usual questions, what did you do here, what did you do there. She then asked my, “Why should we hire you?” Not skipping a beat, I said I’d make sure she’d never forget her father’s birthday again.

I didn’t get the job. She must’ve really hated her father.