I have this weird premonition that I’m getting fired today. This feeling comes and goes throughout my tenure here. Assuming it comes with accrued overtime and vacation time paid out as cash I would not complain too much. In fact I’d welcome it. I don’t want this job anymore. I was promised transfer to a more amenable environment but that was months ago and no one seems interested in making the transition. I need time to myself again. Time to breath, to sleep, to bedrot and drink myself into oblivion. I need to walk. The flaneur needs to walk.

The fear of getting fired is a common currency around here. Lots of people get disappeared. I don’t ask questions because I don’t care. I’ll disappear one day and no one will have had any idea who they were working with. The Legend. Heh. I barely know anything about anybody here. I knew few peoples’ names, since there are no nametags. I remain unclear who supervisors are what what their role is versus managers and what difference it makes. My attempts to make friends here have mostly failed, if not completely. I’d conclude from this that something is wrong with me but many people here seem to have no contact with anyone else around them.

There is a scheduling software we use. You log in, you log out, you tell it when you’re going to lunch or on break. Last week, while on lunch, the scheduling software logged me out. I thought I’d been fired, and I checked email to see if there was an invitation to a meeting upstairs. That’s how you know. You get called upstairs, unexpectedly.

I’d be happy to get whacked. I need another new beginning. This was that, and the promise of me moving over to another division was supposed to be the next new beginning. But it’s not looking promising.

Enough of that. I made a new friend on the masturbation network yesterday. I made her laugh, and she said she would mail me the socks that I got her to take off for me. It was sweet and real. She is in California. We talked about churches and churchbells and Koshi windchimes. I told her my bucketlist includes sex or a blow job in a church. She thought that sounded cool. She’s Asian, looks like she might be 40 but Asians age well, so she could be 50. I’ve known enough Asians who have made that comment about aging well that I feel I can repeat it without censure.

My teeth are feeling good again. Not perfect but better than before the Deep Cleaning and the professionally fitted, 3D-printed mouth guard. It does not fall out of my mouth like the cheap store-bought kinds. Those cheap craptastical mouthguards litter my bedroom in all corners, where I typically threw them after they slipped from my mouth and landed in an uncomfortable spot. The genuine mouthguard does not budge.

I decided to go all in on Google One. 2TB of storage, a bunch of other shit I’ll probably never use. But it’s necessary, I think. Microsoft OneCloud is proving to be twitchy and irritating. I save a document to the cloud under DOcuments, or do I? I can only seem to access it through some obcsure URL at live.net, not directly from the Windows Explorer. Very annoying.

Someone just asked if I have kids. I said no, deciding the sordid saga of the child I almost certainly fathered 20-something years ago was not worth delving into. I added that I do have a nephew, to which she said “Well then happy uncle’s day.” I didn’t realize that was where she was going but it makes sense. Tomorrow is Father’s Day. No kids here, thank you very much. Not interested in being a afther figure. A daddy figure is different. But genuine fatherhood eluded me and I’m fine with that.

Extravagent dreams last night that the phone booths along a certain stretch of Midown were restored to service, risen from the scrap heap, for use in a film or television series that would feature extensive phone booth scenes. Numerous booths, indoors and outdoors, were being assembled quickly. I discovered this while in the company of a large family with a bunch of kids who followed me everywhere and seemed to think I was a creep. They watched me in the bathroom, alarmed to see that I peed into a trash can and not the toilet. I took the garbage bag outside as a sanitation worker happened to be doing rounds. I thought he might be taking commercial trash only but he said “If you dumped it we take it.” He seemed to know I had peed into the bag but also seemed to assume I pooped as well. I did not. Knowing all those little kids saw me do this I knew I had to leave, even though I’d made good friends with the adults in the family. qu