It’s Friday, September 26th, I am in the office, and everything is just as stupid as it’s been. I woke up with a frantic Bill alerting me that the shower, which he basically messed up on my birthday, is now completely broken. Of course, it’s not his fault it was like that when I got here, which is what he said, when i fell apart, or when he initially broke the shower head. He claims it’s better it’s not better.

it floods the bathroom which is fine for him since he wasn’t around to have to dry it up and pick it up and I did my best and still I had to go to work so I don’t know what it’s going to be like when I get home but on the way home I have to stop off and get a new shower head I was going to get a water pic like we used to have but I think I’m just going to go for the most basic banal.

I just treated myself to three overpriced cookies, but they’re so good that they’re worth being overpriced. It’s my reward and I’m not going to share it. I’ll probably forgo lunch and buy a shower head after work.

I am now walking back to the fruit stand that I attend to daily from another fruit stand down the road. A nice fruit stand it was smaller than where I am, and I’ll be filling in when David Thomas, the guy at the front desk will be out and there’s somebody rings the bell I’ll be able to answer that ringing bell on the device that they give me an iPhone or an iPad or a Ouija board whatever device is up to them.

I’m still trying to figure out what I’m going to do after work, go to Home Depot in Jersey City and pick up a shower head and install it tonight, or should I go to the horrible hardware store in town? Please, decisions are foremost on my mind, and I still have to get back to my office in about 15 minutes for a meeting on camera with people from the West Coast.

I got to the meeting a little bit late, and it was not the end of the world. I chimed in when needed, said my peace, and then Marcus showed up at my desk. I went off camera, muted my mic, and listened to Marcus tell me his tale of woe. It’s interesting with Marcus, he seems to be so indifferent and somewhat cold, and then moments like this happen, and I’m the only person that he seems to he able to trust.

He’s a good man he takes him a while for him to warm up every day, so I was able to listen, and that’s all I needed to do was listen.

Mike, on the other hand, is inquiring as to whether or not I have a date tonight, when my date is Home Depot and installing a shower head once I get back to my crib. That means I’ll probably have to take the path to Newport, walk over to Home Depot, buy a shower head, and then walk home from there. I am definitely gathering a lot of steps today.

It’s quite a warm September 26th. When I got back from the other location fruit stand, I had to change my undershirt once again, as it was sweaty and I probably looked a sight at those other people at the fruit stand, overweight, breathing heavy sweating profusely. I feel like the guy in that Sherlock episode, A Scandal in Belgravia, who discovered the hiker hit by a boomerang.

Bill is on the road somewhere, and I am sitting here in my spot smoking a normal-size cigar, not a mini, not a small, and I’m going to take my time and enjoy it today, looking at people walking by and wondering all about them. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by what I see and who I see.

My sister has returned home from Europe with her husband and was told by my brother of his situation. I am having lunch with my sister-in-law tomorrow, and that will probably be the topic of discussion, so who knows?

And I just got off the phone with Mike, who’s talking about his beloved and the problems that his beloved is having with a certain social media group. It seems the haters have found him and are complaining about the sheer volume of posts that he’s making.

I’m on the street enjoying my cigar, and there’s a lot of background noise and Mike is just talking, talking, talking, and I had to take another call from Bill, so I had to cut the call short.

It seems there is a weight on my shoulders, but that weight is not necessarily mine; it seems to be other people’s, Marcus, Mike, even Bill. I mean, I do have my own stress, and as pleasant as that meeting at the other food stand was, there was some stress involved because a lot of things are being thrown at me, and I’m just yessing them to death.

Time’s running out, he’s not happy with the cost. There’d be no doubt only he’s forgotten much more than he’s lost.

Richie the cigar guy. I was sitting and smoking, and a guy walking by smoking a cigar I waved to him, he came down and sat, and we talked about many things: art, cigars, photography, things like that. It was pleasant at my lunch hour ended, so I had to cut it short.

Before it was cut short, though he was asking me about this here blog. I don’t remember how it came up, but I mentioned that I write and how you had written from 2005 to 2013, and then I stopped due to losing a job or two from what I’ve written, despite the changing of the names and changing of the guard.

But in August of 2024, I restarted it, but didn’t tell anybody. He didn’t understand the whole thinking behind that, that I’m not trying to make money from this, that if people read it, fine, if they don’t read it, that’s fine too, I’m doing it for myself. Is it contrarian? I’m not sure, but here I am.

Its own reward

That was mainly overheard from the meeting, still debating whether or not to leave it in or leave it out.

I read a worrying post on social media from a good friend from the past, Frankie, who posted something that seemed like a suicide note. I certainly hope not, of course. Frankie’s a good dude.

Donna Summer Bad Girls is playing. The first time I heard the song, I was with Henry Venegas and his girlfriend Lisa, we were going to see the Cosmos play soccer at Giants Stadium, it must have been 79. This was before I told Henry that I wanted to blow him, and Henry was horrified and disgusted, and we never spoke again. He was a hot man with Henry always grabbing his crotch. Now he’s a middle-aged man with a wife and children, and grandchildren. I hope he’s happy.

I am feeling better today than I did the past couple of days. The weather outside fits the mood that I am in or the mood I was in. It’s gray, it’s overcast, it’s drizzly.
Oh, how I regret falling in love with Mike. What a mistake that has been, and I’m still paying the price for it emotionally

I did talk to Frankie Santangelo about the Mike relationship a few months ago. Lately, it seems that Frankie is on the ledge me and a few of his other friends are trying to figure out what the hell is going on with him. He’s a sensitive dude, I’d hate to see him suffer like that.

Like me, Frankie is a checkerboard chick. Steadfast and true, and we end up with our hearts black and blue. I left him two phone call voicemails, but nothing. I should have done it last night, but me being me, I did not. He’s a sensitive soul, that Frankie. I looked at a previous text and recommended that he call 988 should he have a problem, and then had to explain what 988 was the price is hotline that actually does help; an objective ear can fill a prescription.

So it is a damp and humid Thursday afternoon, September 25. My sister and her husband have returned from Europe, 24 hours spent traveling non-stop, so they are exhausted and they’re there 70s, so it can’t be an easy recovery, but only time will tell.

Bill was supposed to be driving some high schoolers this afternoon, and that was canceled, so he will be home when I get home, which is nice.

Sirens blare in the distance, summoning men to crash the boats on the rocks

Days like this slow the time down. I stand here talking into my phone and looking at people as they walk by. I always make eye contact. I really couldn’t say until something happens.

The torment for Mike is my own doing, and I maintain it, perhaps it’s a punishment for myself, I don’t know, so I have long escaped the clutches of the Catholic Church; the Catholic Church still has clutches in me

We’re going to have a real good time together said the Velvet Underground

So all those notes at the beginning of this that we’re overheard by my microphone from the meeting I attended will have to be deleted before I post, and then because it’s nonsense and has nothing to do with anything really outside of the office.

Some people wear masks on their faces and still don’t know how to wear them properly.
I received a text from 516-259-0766, a woman whose arms are like noodles after yoga. She claims to be looking for Emma and has mentioned once or twice that she is surprised that I do not remember her number. I called the number from a landline and got a Google voicemail.
I have broken this post into two. The first half was overheard from the meeting second half is actually me talking, dictating into the phone to be edited later when I get home.