You’ve caught me at a good time in my headspace. Things have been despairing as of late. I wake up, have my coffee, and check email responses to jobs I had applied to with little or no results. Whatever good mood I might be in when I putter around the apartment, within moments it crashes down.

Bill does his very best to alleviate my downward turn, but sometimes I am too far gone to appreciate it and push back resentfully. That is not resentment towards Bill but rather towards my circumstances and my anger for Bratty McGrotty and those worms. There have been times when I felt it would be best to go out and get some fresh air and Bill joins me.

He earnestly tries to build me up, but I lash out unfairly. It’s harder this time around, with the former junkie leading the Health and Human Services department laying off 10,000 employees on top of the thousands of other workers dismissed from their jobs in the name of cost efficiency. Oh it’s such bullshit, I know, and I can’t help but see these people as competition for work that is scarce already.

Like I have posted before if Bill or Mike is here, I focus on them and put my troubled mind to the side. When there is no one around, and there is no one around all the time, then I get into trouble.

Today was slightly better, though. There was a phone interview earlier this afternoon which was mediocre, but OK. I don’t think it went well, but that’s not up to me. There was another phone interview later this afternoon, which went incredibly well. The woman was engaging and somewhat intelligent, and we got along just fine.

Bill overheard both interviews and agreed the second interview was tops. It really lifted my spirits considerably. I am trying not to fall into the sticky sweet puddle of hope, but sometimes it can not be resisted. Plus it is better than being the morose person I have been as of late.

Mike is at his crib in Jersey City. Bill is on his way home with the company car. I am happy. I had a fun phone call with Mike, and Bill is his Silly Billy self. The other night, when Mike was here, Mike explained how when he was younger and in a Chicago version of “Little Shop of Horrors”.

The director had Mike act out Audrey II, but it was decided that might couldn’t sing and so had another guy sing those parts with Mike doing the ‘Feed me Seymour’ lines. I decided to see what Mike could do and asked him to do a tone.

Just a simple ‘Ahhh’, which Bill and his perfect pitch stated it to be an ‘A’. I matched Mike’s tone, and Bill matched mine. Mike was surprised at this, and we did it a few more times. The whole thing was less than five minutes but it opened Mike’s eyes, or ears as it were.

It was a fine example of small, lowercase, fun.

Zaire Millet. I liked Zaire Millet and I think she liked me. She called me her ‘Guncle’ which meant ‘Gay Uncle’ We had many a laugh and Zaire had a distinctive laugh. She played the Bratty McGrotty game better than this old dog could. I enjoyed her company which existed in the office only. The mailroom staff could not stand her though.

It was more than likely racism. A white Jewish/Italian guy from Queens who lived in his mother’s basement as well as the immigrants of color who in their rush to assimilate, latched onto the worst parts of American culture which was the denigrating of Black people. I did try to contact Zaire when I left but it had no response.

Michael Dissa. He passed away recently. My friendship with him was through Charlie. I first knew Michael when Charlie was working the CD store wing of Pier Platters. I DJ’d Michael’s wedding I did not do a good job. I think of him singing along to The Smiths ‘Stop Me If Think You’ve Heard This One Before’.

When I was working for the Algerian Financial Managers I would see him on the platform for the PATH train. He saw me, I saw him and it never went any further than that. And I regret doing such an awful job playing records at his wedding reception.

Noel Guzman was a guy who I initially filled in for while he was having surgery and recovering from the operation on his broken neck. He would commute from Pennsylvania to work in Jersey City for the Algerian Financial Managers. He had an awful posture, much like a hunchback.

When he was training me before he was out on medical leave I would shadow him and wound up walking slumped over like he would walk. I caught myself doing just that. Not to mock him, just following his lead that intensely.

MaryAnn Fuentes was another gnome from Algerian Financial Managers. She would drink a tumbler of cold water, and complain about being cold. She was nice enough but also one who was quick to drop a dime in a company filled with people loaded with dimes in their pockets. She had a hairdo that resembled Lisa Lisa from the Cult Jam days and was about 5 feet tall in heels. She gave me a bottle of Maker’s Mark as a Christmas present for a few years which explains the unopened bottles of Maker’s Mark in the pantry.

I’m fairly certain that Zaire is still alive, while I am uncertain if Noel or even MaryAnn can be counted among the living.

I’ve known Noah Vale for a long time. He’s seen the best of me and the worst of me and I think he mainly remembers the worst. Mainly things that I had said in the past and regretted saying almost immediately after.

The horse has left the barn and I don’t know where that friendship stands. I guess it’s a day to day, week to week thing. When we see each other it’s pleasant but who knows where it really stands, though I do remember Noah Vale fondly.