As luck would have it.

Tuesday, August 26th, 2025. I believe my sister has made it to Europe or is at least on her way with her husband; I haven’t heard anything otherwise.

It’s a Tuesday day two of a four-day work week, which means it’s going exceedingly slow. I am probably going to have halal food for lunch, which means I should probably go out and get some right now and then work through it.

Mike starts his new job today, 11:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. That is what he signed up for, that is what he seems to be prepared for. I hope he works it.

It’s a beautiful summer day, although I’m inside looking at the outside blue sky. Last night, Bill and I watched about 2 hours of John Oliver, or close to it at least. We enjoyed it greatly, and he went to bed. I spoke to Mike on the phone, who asked how I was sleeping lately, and I was hesitant to say anything for fear that my sleep would be altered by fate, and sure enough, that seems to have happened. I did not sleep as well as I had wanted to; perhaps tonight will be better. I did go to sleep about half an hour later than I have been, so it could all be my fault, not necessarily the fault of fate.

I finally finished the book The Secret Public by Jon Savage. As usual, it was very good since Jon Savage is a very good writer, erudite in the best sense. Now I am reading Talking Heads at the New York Scene That Transformed Rock by Jonathan Gould. I heard about it on the Rocks Back Pages podcast, and I didn’t actually finish that, but it seems to be okay for now. Talking Heads was quite one of the top bands in my life back in the day, and perhaps they still are somehow.

I have only met David Byrne, though I do recall meeting Jerry Harrison once, and he showed up at Maxwell’s, and I sort of pigeonholed him into trying to get me a job with Gary Kurfirst, who happens to be the manager of Talking Heads. Needless to say, nothing came of it. So brazen was I in my younger days…

Why do 4-day work weeks seem to take twice as long to get through? So I’m going to head out in a few minutes and get some halal food in the corner of University and 14th Street. I did it last week, and it’s quite good for less than $10. I do hope it was chicken though, hahaha. And it was $10 today.

For me, Andy Warhol haunts this area since two of his factories were on Union Square, he used to get sandwiches at a place that no longer exists called Brownies I still feel his presence, although it could be gas.

Not much else to report, I’m heading out in a few and coming back in a few. Looking to get my food, I saw a nanny interacting with a child in their charge. The child had a wonderful smile on his face, and then maybe think of all the times parents just walked down the street with their kids looking at their phones and ignoring their children, oh what a nightmare this will be…

It’s come down to the end it seems with Mike and myself. I have thought that before but this might be the first time I have written it down.

Not too happy about it. It’s a new chapter that Mike seems to be writing. Apparently Mike has been thinking about it for weeks. I had an inkling.

Still, it came as a surprise, and it definitely hurts. That’s life. Mike cried, I did not. His mind is made up. He consulted with his counselor and she backed him up. I wish I could dictate my thoughts but as usual the microphone is not cooperating.

I keep trying to no avail.

Still not working. It’s just as well. I am bitter. I am confused. I am uncertain. I am wounded. I am bewildered. But most of all, I am hurt. I gotta look out for number one. I am thinking that it was a mistake. I almost turned to Mike and said that. We are sitting side by side in the audience waiting to see Bill in Postal Madness.

Unease on my part, oblivious or so I project upon Mike.

Focusing on the things that Mike does that I find irritating could help with the break.
I sit watching Bill in a ______ play and I find myself distancing from Mike who’s elbow is half an inch from my elbow. I am grateful that this will more than likely not be read by Mike and I can basically write whatever I damn will please.

Postal Madness is a few centimeters above Pap Smear, and that is saying something without saying much at all.

It’s definitely a strange situation. The cigar dad and the cigar son is clearly a fantasy that Mike wanted to maintain, or at least started to. He does like to call me Dad, and I was calling him son for quite a few months. But now, since there is nothing physical between us, the fantasy is gone, and I’m a guy who smokes cigars basically any chance I can get, whereas Mike smokes cigars only for the camera.

And that’s the fantasy, and I was drawn in by the fantasy, and it was fun, and he indulged that fantasy, and that was fun, but now the fantasy is over, he spoke his truth that I asked him to d,o and now that chapter is finished.

It hurt quite a bit the past week or so, but lately the cycle is 3 weekends a month, we’re getting around great one weekend, it turns to shit, and this is that weekend, although last weekend when I asked the question was the start over the end of this chapter.

I am used to having him around, but when he’s around, he spends a lot of the time, perhaps too much of the time, looking at his phone. I would try to interact with him by asking what are you watching, I need usually say something and it was quite banal most of the time of things that he was watching people behaving badly and people being mistreated and he would be indignant or outraged though as I dictate this into the phone which by the way is dictating again, that he would alter the atmosphere chemically through his reaction to what he was witnessing.

New Dawn, New Day, and New Attitude, perhaps. Am I overly dramatic Am I a drama queen?
The fault lies with both Mike and myself, perhaps we are both using each other. Both of us know that is so it really that much of a problem?

I am taking off work on Friday since the PATH station will be closed for the weekend and I just don’t want to have the hassle I have time off available and I am taking it I knew I’d be taking a mental health day in August in here I am on the last day of August taking that mental health day.

I am also taking my birthday off on September 12th. I told Mike that Bill and I might rent a car and go down the shore, and he’s welcome to join us, so that might happen. It’s all very confusing and unsettling but we’re working our way out of it, Bill, Mike, and I.

I just glanced at the first line of this post, and here I am at the exact opposite end. Woe is me, things are horrible, things are over to now things are not so over, things are getting better, strangeness abounds.

Why has Hope Schaefer popped into my head? I am thinking about writing a play after saying Bill’s play and writing about the situation that erupted between Bill, Mike, and me this weekend, only set up Bill, Mike, and me. I’m going to label it Walter David and Richie.