Typing earlier than usual, not dictating on this Christmas Eve 2025. Not much is going on. I am waiting for a FedEx delivery of Bill’s gifts. Mike is at his crib, more than likely looking at porn or shooting videos of himself. The videos that we make aren’t porn, and they could be described as erotic, and that might be a stretch.

Bill’s plan for being on the road is still up in the air; he knows just as much today as he did last night. It’s quiet here in my apartment. Harry Potter is on. Bill calls it comfort food. So, I wait for a delivery. They say a 2:30 delivery, but you know how that goes. I do have to go to the supermarket, but feel housebound until then.

It’s a bit of a drag, overall. I’m dressed and ready. All revved up with nowhere to go. I keep looking at the FedEx tracking, and nothing changes. I want to get Elaine a plant, and I’m fairly certain they have them at the supermarket. I did go to a store in Hoboken the other day, but could not find anything I wanted to buy, and the salesman was helping someone else.

I spoke with my brother Brian the other day. That was fun. We reminisced about our neighbors growing up and also about the jobs we both had at different times. He was close to getting fired a few times, but wasn’t because our Mother, who worked in the office of the warehouse, was so well liked. And he mentioned that he showed up drunk a few times. He left the book warehouse job and worked at Pioneer Electronics in Moonachie.

I didn’t show up drunk but I was a fuck up. And I always got a pass due to my Mother’s grace. It was a double edged sword that haunts me to this day. I didn’t take the job seriously, though I did my best not to fuck up. Yet I did fuck up. I would pick orders, either listening to music or singing.

My not taking the job seriously led me to not take any job too seriously. Well, sometimes I did take things seriously, but inevitably I would be cheeky and silly. It’s been like that since 1978, and here I am in 2025 with mostly the same mindset I had 47 years ago.

Once I started smoking pot, it did get worse somewhat. By that time, I was not picking orders, but driving back and forth from Saddle Brook, NJ, to Manhattan twice a day. I was high most of the time. My friend Rand, whom I worked with, did tell me everyone knew I was high. My own Mother probably knew, but she was in denial.

It was a simpler time back then. I was living with my folks. Still in the closet. I did meet Jet Watley in the Manhattan offices, and would drive him home up by the George Washington Bridge through Central Park with joints burning most of the time.

Nowadays, I wait until later in the afternoon to light up. I get more accomplished throughout the day, but I still fuck up every now and then, but not with the same regularity I had 47 years ago.

Or so I’d like to think…

Funny, now that I have been home the past two days, instead of dictating, I sit and write. I admit getting a bit lazy; I usually dictate into my phone, since I’m not in front of the computer. I’m usually in the city or at work, which is usually the reason for being in the city.

Mike was here once again last night. We had a good talk. Bill came home safe & sound, and he joined whatever conversation or viewing that was going on. After Bill went to bed, Mike and I shot videos. I was up later than expected and had no trouble sleeping.

I woke up this Tuesday morning, the penultimate Tuesday, a few minutes before 9:00 AM. Bill and Mike were both awake and puttering around. Mike was going to leave in the afternoon, but a call from his parole officer had him heading home sooner rather than later, and Bill was taking him in a Zip Car.

They left in a blur, and I wound up slowly starting the 23rd day of December. About an hour after Bill returned, he got a phone call. He’s going to be on the road, leaving this Friday and possibly gone for two weeks. That spent my spirits crashing.

Last night, Mike told me his beloved that he might be flying in next week for New Year’s. That news was dispiriting, and my showing that made Mike start to look for the door. I explained that I needed to eat, and my feelings would likely improve. Mike explained that his beloved procrastinates, and it’s unlikely that he will actually follow through on his travel plans.

I was somewhat reassured, but in the back of my mind, as Jimmy Chile calls ‘the evil Jiminy Cricket’, chirped, but there is always a possibility… that it’s not 100% certain. The return of the superstitious atheist.

With Bill, it of course hit harder. I just folded into myself and was anxious about Bill being away for so long. Yes, I have separation anxiety, but this also concerns his health. Bill, like myself, ain’t gettin’ any younger…

I took an unneeded nap and then walked around Hoboken by myself, the weather a mirror of my emotions, gray with dampened spirits. Bill and I did talk, and his plan changed, as it will. Things are usually set by the time Bill walks out the door. This trip seems to be more complicated, and the balls are up in the air, even when the rubber hits the road.

Bill, with his superpower being travel plans, thrives in this and contacts other drivers about what the itinerary is and picks their brains for what they might know about the excursion. Bill might be here for New Year’s Eve and leave once more on New Year’s Day.

It’s all up in the air. Between now and then, things will likely be changed and or dropped. Mike is scheduled to return tomorrow, then the Garfield expedition. Things are changing. Always.