Ever have one of those days when it feels like everything is going wrong? Ever have a week of those days? How about a month? Well that’s how it’s been lately. No, it hasn’t been all darkness but man the light shining seems to be so rare these days. Hit by a crippling wave of depression at the tail end of the day.

Hard to force a smile. Hard to get into that Holiday Spirit when so lacking in spirit. Financial woes, work woes. It’s a wonder that I haven’t taken up drinking. Actually did split a bottle of wine with Julio last night, but he seemed to have gotten more of a buzz from it than I did. I had Bill on my mind, and I had bills on my mind.

I’m sure it would feel different in November or January. But it’s now, and here I am. I am getting fucked by my job. At least they’re using a condom, but the condom is made of sandpaper.

A memo was distributed last month stating that the bonuses will be handed out today. Everyone got theirs, except for me and Christina.

True, we get paid every other Friday, and everyone gets paid on the 15th and the 30th, but we both were expecting a check today, and another one tomorrow. But this was not to be of course. And the people in charge of this were out today. How bloody fucking convenient.

So money expected was not received. We’ll have to hang in there for a few more hours I suppose but what was promised was not delivered. There was that, there was having to sign 200 holiday cards for a director in an affiliated company. That wasn’t so bad, because I like those people. They gave me a box of Godiva Biscotti, which I gave to the cleaning woman at work

It wasn’t all bleak though. I took some snapshots. If it weren’t for art, I’d probably go nuts.

2006 around the corner. Will it be a better year? That would be nice but my hopes aren’t going to be held that high.

One of my favorite people, Tony who makes my egg sandwiches once a week. A great decent man. I don’t kid myself about my ‘bond’ with him since we chat no more than maybe 10 minutes a week. He always asks for Bill and we chat during the warmer weather about those hot chicks that wear less.

I do my straight bit, and I guess he buys it.
Then again he always asks about Bill. So maybe he does have a clue.

I was supposed to go to a holiday party for Seven Stories Press in Tribeca with Bill’s wonderful cousin Hiram. Bill wasn’t going to make it since he had his own holiday party to go to, so I opted to join Hiram, but as the day wore on and the depression set in, I decided against it. I texted Bill to let him know.

I think Bill felt that Lewis Lapham, Kurt Vonnegut, Art Buchwald, Barry Crimmins and Paul Krassner were going to reprise their Evening of American Satire or at least show up at the party but I had my doubts. Then in the midst of texting, Hiram’s sister Carmen, told Bill to tell me not to go since Hiram wouldn’t be attending. Crazy weather in South Jersey and not worth the drive.

Fine. I had a party with dear Brenda who I work with at the hotel across the street from work. I stood outside in the light sleet having a smoke when a woman in a hooded jacket asked me what the time was. ‘Almost 6:30’ I said.

Then I noticed it was Rue McClanahan. I asked if I could trouble her to take her picture and she obliged.

See? It wasn’t so bad after all.

Had a few drinks with Brenda, no food, the lines were so long. Like peasants getting free milk. Then I escorted Brenda back to the office and walked down 5th Avenue, smoking my cigar.

Today was back to reality day. And man was it ugly. Didn’t want to get out of bed, would rather have been under the covers all day. One of Bill’s talents is emitting heat throughout the night. And his climate control isn’t so bad either.

Got the bus, had nothing to read, so I dreadfully stared at the back of people’s heads. Worked my way up to the office via the subway, did the usual start up of office services. I had a meeting with the president of the company. Hard to tell if he’s alive or not. One should check for a pulse when speaking with him one on one about serious matters.

He was asking about my Critical Few Objectives, known as CFO’s. Each pee on at the company has to make a list on things that they can do to improve their situation and in turn make the company a better place. I was told about this weeks ago, but kept putting it off. Every time I started, I would notice there were too many expletives. Fuck this, fuck that, etc.

So I had to run and print out 2 copies of last year’s CFO’s. I promised to be on time more often, which was easy since I’m almost always on time. Keep my desk tidy, not to talk down to people (even when they do it to me). The last one was an actual quote. All this to find out what a cheap bonus I was getting.

I played grateful. I just wanted to get away from this impotent figurehead. All we did was talk about the same old shit I had been talking with him about for the past four months, which he did absolutely nothing about. And he said he would’ve. Asshole. The situation has gotten from bad to worse, and I blame his inaction.

We even talked about Hope. We talked about me being an office manager. His reaction was to ask if I could lead people I don’t get along with. The proper question should have been could people that don’t get along with me follow my lead. I think the answer is no. The writing on the wall has started getting clearer.

Then Christina had her meeting with him. Her’s was briefer than mine, since I had been there longer, Christina had been there since March. One of my CFO’s from last year was to delegate jobs better, but I usually wind up doing everything myself. She sits and shops and surfs and talks to her mother on the phone. Fine with me, just would like her to do what I tell her to do right away. But it usually takes a few repeats.

Then I had another interview with the company I interviewed with last Thursday. They called me back while at the office holiday party, and I arranged for a lunchtime interview with someone else. This totaled 5 people at the same firm that I’ve interviewed with. Seemed promising. But this guy wanted to know about my college background, and I perhaps answered honestly and therefore, incorrectly. He asked if I graduated from High School and when. I guess it’s really the only way to find out how old someone is without actually asking, which is against the law.
This was in the room where I had today’s interviews.

It’s also the second picture that I took while waiting to meet with someone there. So cheeky!

He also wanted to know about jobs that weren’t on my resume. He asked about HBJ, I even told him about Murdoch Magazines, but didn’t mention the major snowstorms that occurred almost daily in the slide room.

These interviews are tedious. It ended soon enough, and I was about to leave when Carl, someone I interviewed with last week told me 2 more people wanted to meet with me. So I sat back down in the conference room for a minute. Carl reappeared and said they couldn’t make it but asked me some questions, like ‘If we were to hire you, when would you start?’

I said January, since I’d like to give two weeks notice at work, and would be away for the last week of the year. I asked Carl if it looked good for me to get the position. He replied, “Well I am asking you these questions for a reason.”

That left me with some hope.

I got back to my desk, no one really didn’t notice I wasn’t there anyway. I asked Christina how much she was getting for her bonus, and it turns out she’s getting a bigger bonus than me. I was pissed, not at her, but the whole fucking unfairness of the fucking situation.

Then later, I got an email from a job search engine about a job that looked suspiciously like mine. I applied for it. I know what I was doing, and thought I’d let them know what they were up to. Fucking douche bags.

Met Bill after work and we walked from 56th and Park to 10th street and University in the Village. I told him about the day’s events. Bill was incredulous. He agreed that I should get the hell out of there.

Then we had couples counseling, or at least the final intake before the counseling begins. Trudged home in the cold and here I am.