I seem to have made it through another week at this job. This yob. I’d always wanted this job, and for the opening months I might have been as happy with this life as I’d ever been. That’s not to imply that I laoth it now, or that any outlook has really changed. I like being here. but I fundamentally see through some of the mission and the perceived value of what happens here. I guess other cities do it differently? I don’t know. I can’t get into details. It gives away too much. This is not a top secret job, I just don’t like letting people know where I work. That sort of geographical knowledge has caused troubles for me in the past. On top of that I guess I don’t really know why but I’d always been averse to advertising my source of income. It seems weak, in some puny, abstract way. Who needs to know what I do? Pronouncements of what I do are, I believe, followed by mentla thoughts balloons filled with a tangle of dollar signs and question marks. How much does a ____ make? Money and salary are like penis size. It’s probably none of your business. 

As for the latter I guess I’ll find out tonight whose business it is. Hah, what a segue. Did not even see that coming. No more chatter on that, though. As always I prepare to fail but welcome whatever awaits. She’s from a different planet from me, that’s for sure.

I’m also poking around on the hookup apps again. So many fakes and bots. The women who say they’re ready for anything are usually morbidly obese and/or hundreds of miles away. I like chunky but 300 pounds and located in Texas is not going to work for me. 

I never send dick pix, solicited or unsolicited. They spychology behind sending unsolicited pictures like that, though, might seem convoluted but it makes sense to me. It’s one dude’s way of saying “I think you’re hot.” I don’t send that stuff until I have maximum assurances that this is a trusting environment, a trustable woman. It’s a big part of  what got me through quarantine.

I saw something yesterday that said “quarantine” was the most commonly misspelled word in New York. One person allegedly spelled it “corn teen.”  It is a mouthful of syllables, and a handsful of letters. 

…

I am an epiphenomenalist. I don’t believe it. I know that nothing I say or do contributes to the meaning of things.