Friday night in Hoboken, 32°. I had a dream last night. My mother and I were down the shore, possibly Asbury Park. The only places I had been down the shore with my mom were Wildwood Crest and Cape May, never Asbury Park which would have been on its knees when my mother was still alive.

In the dream my mother and I were sitting near a building, trying to find some shade. Across from us was a family with a gigantic umbrella that they were sitting under. I asked them if we could join them and they said yes. It was perfect since the building my mother and I were sitting near had a few hornet nests very close by.

The obliging family sat back and I went into the water and when I came out I could not find anyone. It seems that my mother was at a motel called the Edge. It was a maze of hallways and staircases and not easy to actually see anyone I knew though they were around somewhere. It was then I set out trying to find my mother as I walked the boardwalk.

I somehow finagled a taxi on the boardwalk and we drove through a pavilion or arcade, stopping at a 2 or 3-story house that was half buried in the sand. I changed my clothes at some point and never found my mother again.

Bill kissed me goodbye as he left for work and I eventually roused myself out of bed. I generally make the bed as soon as I wake up. It is sometimes the only accomplishment of the day. I heard from Mike today and decided to head to his crib in Chilltown. That was fun.

I hadn’t seen him in about 2 weeks even though we talk daily on the phone. We hung out mainly, me being the father confessor. It’s fun and he’s adorable. Been through a lot and he reveals things through drips and drabs.

He loves to hear me talk. He really loves to hear Bill talk, and man can Bill talk. With my undiagnosed ADHD sometimes don’t hear everything Bill says but I do know the cadence of his speech and I recover nicely I think. Not always though.

I do find myself drowning in the pool of words and mentally grasping wildly trying to figure out what it was that he was talking about. I suppose that could be said of most couples who’ve been together for a long time, though sometimes it happens with Mike too, when he goes in deep with his handy tales of his past. It’s not them, it’s me and my undiagnosed ADHD.

At least that is the excuse of the day. Right now I am watching Play It Again, Sam. Tony Roberts died today and I mainly know him through Woody Allen movies. This one has Tony Roberts, and Diane Keaton and was written by Woody Allen who is the lead. It’s free on Kanopy but my first choice was Annie Hall, though Tony Roberts has more lines in Play It Again, Sam.

Dick : [On the phone] Let me tell you where you can reach me, George. I’ll be at 362-9296 for a while; then I’ll be at 648-0024 for about fifteen minutes; then I’ll be at 752-0420; and then I’ll be home, at 621-4598. Yeah, right George, bye-bye.
Linda : There’s a phone booth on the corner. You want me to run downstairs and get the number? You’ll be passing it.

Thursday 38°. It’s a bleak day yet again. I was awoken by sleeting rain last night, quite loud as it hit the windows. Though I was awoken by the sleeting rain, it also allowed me to fall back asleep. Bill has been off running errands in Manhattan as well as parts of New Jersey.

Now he is waiting on a train that is running late. I went out with him earlier as he had an errand to do in Hoboken and then I walked him to the bus stop.

It didn’t seem like it was raining when I looked out the window before heading out, but climbing down four flights of stairs to the street, I realized I should have taken an umbrella. I could’ve but did not climb the four flights to get an umbrella and made peace with the situation I was in. It wasn’t pouring but it was drizzling and I was going to be wet.

I picked up a few rolls at Natural and Plus after I saw Bill board the bus and walked over to see Imram after that. Then a trip to the more expensive supermarket to get some milk. Went to a cashier instead of the self-checkout and found a young man more interested in his phone than actually communicating with a customer.

I told him as I exited that we had to stop having these conversations. It probably registered with him for a second, then it was back to the phone to post about a grouchy old white guy, me.

Speaking of the phone, Mike. Mike likes it when I call him and I do call him. Today I called and there was a connection, twice. Each time the call was going on for 60 seconds. The first time I called I counted down from 30 seconds to the end then I hung up. I called again a few minutes later and did the same thing again.

Mike called back on his lunch break, talking to me as well as co-workers who were in his vicinity. I took that opportunity to pick up my guitar and play a few chords which took him by surprise. What took me by surprise was the fact it took a few seconds to remember the chords to Kansas City or For You Blue. It had been a few weeks since I last played and my fingers were a bit rusty. Mike didn’t seem to understand what I was doing though.

Just now Mike called from Journal Square on his dismal damp, gray day. He was wandering around looking for a sneaker store. Not really talking to me, so I told him that since there was not much going on conversation-wise, I might as well continue to write this, which I paused when I saw him calling and started again when I realized that the phone call was going nowhere fast.

Mike claims that he sets me up when I announce I am getting off the phone call, knowing how his end of the call is irritating since he’s not communicating. I asked him why he would do such a thing and he said it was to wind me up. I told him I wasn’t getting off the call though and to understand when he hears nothing but typing on my end.

The tables had turned and he got off the phone, telling me he would call me later when he got to his crib. We’ll see if that happens. I am resolved to not call him later, he can call me, and he has the number. I do have my doubts.
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The Google AI humorous version
Thursday: 38° and the sky is weeping. Again. My sleep was serenaded by the percussive stylings of sleet on my windows, which, while initially disruptive, did lull me back into the land of nod. Bill, meanwhile, has been gallivanting about Manhattan and the wilds of New Jersey, currently engaged in a staring contest with a late train. I bravely ventured out with him earlier (after a quick errand in Hoboken), escorting him to the bus stop like a dutiful Sherpa.

The weather, which had seemed so benign from my window perch, revealed its true, drizzly nature the moment I descended the four flights of stairs. Umbrella? Obviously not. Climbing back up four flights? Also obviously not. I embraced the dampness.

Post-bus-departure, I embarked on a mini-grocery-store-crawl. First, Natural and Plus for some rolls (the edible kind), then a quick hello to Imram, followed by a pilgrimage to the fancy supermarket for milk. There, I encountered a cashier more engrossed in his phone than in, you know, cashiering. My parting words, “We need to talk about these conversations,” were met with a blank stare, likely followed by an immediate social media post about some grumpy old dude (that’s me!).

Then there’s Mike. Mike loves when I call. And call I did. Twice. Each call lasted precisely 60 seconds (I timed them!), ending with a dramatic hang-up on my end. Mike, bless his heart, called back on his lunch break, a multi-tasker extraordinaire, chatting with me and his coworkers. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to serenade him with some rusty guitar chords. Turns out, my fingers had forgotten their “Kansas City” and “For You Blue” friends. Mike, unsurprisingly, was musically oblivious.

Fast forward to Mike’s call from Journal Square, where he was on a sneaker-store safari in the dismal, damp, grayness. Our conversation was less “riveting dialogue” and more “background noise for my typing.” So, I informed him that I was resuming my chronicle of our non-conversation.

Mike, the master of mind games, claims he deliberately drags out these calls just to annoy me when I announce my departure. “Why would you do such a thing?” I inquired. “To wind you up!” he declared. I, however, am not getting off this call, and he should interpret the sound of furious typing as my continued presence.

The tables have now turned. Mike, defeated by the sheer force of my typing, has abandoned ship, promising a future call from his “crib.” Color me skeptical. I, meanwhile, have resolved not to initiate any further communication. He has my number. Let’s see if the phone rings. I’m not holding my breath.