Dear You

Ok, so I didn’t remember to write yesterday. I was so damn tired. More rain, never stopping, made my bones ache. So tired. It was a washed out day. Interviews cancelled, then rescheduled. Dopey doofus me feeling. Lot’s of the usual bullshit. No way to figure out how to start. Had a meeting with someone on line who just exhausted me. I for once ran out of things to say, and if I wasn’t so tired, I would’ve run away.

We met at the Time Warner Center by Columbus Circle at Davidoff. We both smoke cigars, so that was out touchstone. But it didn’t go any farther than cigar talk, the basics, no gar sex talk, just, “I like blah blah blah. What do you like?” I wasn’t looking for depth, and certainly got no stimulation.

But Barry was his name and he was a nice guy. Not my type at all, but nice nonetheless. We wound up walking from Time Warner to 37th and 6th. He certainly talked a whole lot. I oddly enough ran out of things to say. So I said, ‘Really. Oh Yeah?’ a few times. He did drop a few phrases that I use that often, like ‘Doesn’t suffer fools gladly’. No one uses that one anymore.

The interviews which seemed so promising earlier in the week, no longer seem to be that way. I am writing this at work which could mean this item is the intellectual property of Wanker Banker, which accounts for my half heartened effort. No big deal.

The ridiculousness of my coworkers never ceases to amaze me. How they remember to breathe astounds me.
I received an email from B, William Vaseles Charas today. He’s still into Sinead O’Connor and wanted to know what I’ve been listening to. I rattled off Bowie, and quoted “freak out in a moonage daydream oh yeah’. I can see him smile at that. I lived with him for 11 years, believe it or not. As Rand said, 9 years too many.
It wasn’t all bad, but the bad parts showed more and more towards the end. I do look back fondly on the cheap rent.

Supposed to have a ‘date’ with Bill tonight, but haven’t heard anything from him. Perhaps he too will flake. We all do at some time. No response to the email I sent a few minutes ago, perhaps I’ll check again.

Just checked, and no answer. C’est la vie. I will be checking until 5:30.

I should get into detail about what is going on with us, but with intellectual property being what it is, I’ll save it for later.

It’s not easy working with monkeys. Just ask Mike Nesmith. This is day 6 of nonstop rain. Everything soggy. Hometown of Lodi, nearly underwater in the usual spots, Outwater Lane, Panamas, Route 46. Glub glub. Playing the game of nice nice everything fine. The roof is on fire, let the motherfucker burn.
Remind me to tell you of the interviewing fiasco with Office Team. Perhaps I should give up on them and continue my repertoire of being dazed and bemused.

10.14.05a

Let’s Panic Later

I have a problem with caffeine. Specifically Diet Pepsi drunken after 7PM. It will affect my sleep patterns later in the evening. Last night I fell into a deep sleep almost immediately and then a few minutes later I woke up and had difficulty going back to sleep. Narcolepsy? Hope not. Strange things happen in a deep sleep that comes quickly.

I heard a metallic gong-sounding thing, but looked like a frying pan lid. That is what woke me up. So I tossed and turned for what seemed to be a long time. Of course with day 5 of non-stop rain, waking up isn’t that easy.
Couldn’t really get started and missed a few buses, and once in the city, I decided to take the subway to 5th ave and central park south. I looked great in my Sean John suit. I know I know, but it’s looks so damn sexy. But without a raincoat, I was getting wet despite the umbrella. Wind blowing rain in many directions all at once, no matter what happens, you’re going to get wet.

That sounds like a MenAtPlay.net video.

Took the shortcut thru Trump Tower and the IBM atrium, and still soaked. I guess this is how the weather is most of the time in Ireland and England. They can have it. Got to my desk and as usual really started working. I remember thinking about the bonus I may be giving up if I take a new job before November. But with the pseudo Zen rationalization that I uncannily possess from time to time, I figured that the money didn’t exist, and wouldn’t exist until I had it in my bank account, so what’s the big deal? And for once I was right.

People tell me I’m right more often than I think, but I guess I never stick around enough to find out.

Had some strange words with Julio, who believes in me, more than I believe in myself. And on the other hand was Frank, my brother, who can always find the wrong thing to say. Right now I’m scavenging for self-confidence, and with but a few words, only another O’Toole can cut me down to size. I forgot exactly what he said, but I was cut.

Maybe it’s an Irish thing. I’ve felt that a lot of the time, the Irish will not support each other, though if you say anything bad about the Irish….

So I left work at 2:30 for an interview that lasted about 5 minutes. BY that time I was soaked, tired and a bit angry with the Harpies at work. So I took the PATH home and walked to the apartment.
Even more soaked, I was going to dry out this once fine suit, but it looked a shambles. So I went to Center Cleaners, dropped it off, picked up another suit and shirts.

I was expecting to hear from a certain Christopher Hammer, who I’ve been chatting online with for a few years. Lives down the shore, wears suits and smokes cigars. He was supposed to be coming to Hoboken, or at least in the area, But I haven’t heard a stitch.
C’est la vie, it’s pouring out anyway.