Subways a mess today. No W at all. N was only supposed to get to Queensboro Plaza but ended up making it to Manhattan after all. Conflicting announcements at the station but that’s nothing new. I could stand to make the 7 a part of my commute. There is an escalator there, unlike at 59th Street/Lexington, where it’s just a lot of stairs from the N/W to the 4/5 express platform.

I took pills today, of course. Something about this job that would take time to recover from is the methodical, deliberate addiction to anxiety and BP meds. You can’t just quit taking that stuff. I cancelled a colonoscopy partly on account of this. I didn’t know until the day before that I had been expected to follow a cleansing process of at least three days, during which BP and other meds, and alcohol, were to be limited or just eliminated. All this for a procedure the value of which has come under question in recent months.

The worlds lived around us. Every life a planet, a gangly-shaped orb that floats. Its eyes are windows into other planets, other worlds, where every speck of thought and humor is unique, subsumable, submissible.

I have a sore throat, just a little bit. That is said to be a newer early symptom of Covid. A symptom of the newer strain. Fever is said to be a symptom only 4% of the time. I have sense of taste and smell. 

Going to pee, I think. Didn’t shit here yesterday but I should have. Constipated and bloated for the afternoon. What am I doing here? I could make it through the holiday. A goal could be January 14, for a full year. Or is the first year based on date of hire? I have no reason to still be here.

I’m not making friends here. This is mostly on me. I’m not a back-slapper. But there is really no time. And you rarely even get to know someone’s full name. 

I feel tiny today. Tiny. Naked. Alone. 

I should wash away the sore throat with my usual daily intake of umpteen gallons of water. Piss it all out.