She uses the word a lot, in various forms. “I’m happy” “Happiness.” “Happyhappy.” Cooking for me and feeding me makes her happy. My happiness is her happiness. She strokes my hair when I eat what she cooked for me. She is always asking questions while cooking, questions about what I might or might not want in my coffee, or brunch. When she tells me I smell good I tell her I deliberately scent myself up for her. I like feeling liked, even for something superficial like my smell.

Smell is a dumb, not-multi-purpose word.

I am reminded of a clarity I had in a previous relationship. She said I was responsible for her happiness. Maybe she didn’t say it outright like that but the sentiment was clear. My flipside thought was that this made me equally responsible for her misery, and her unhappiness, however that may manifest itself. Not a fair dynamic, for one party to be wholly responsible for the other’s happiness.

Is happiness even real? Is not love but a tapestry of lies, fantasies, and stifling compromises?


No, I do not. My thoughts on such things earn no privilige or consideration.

Over the past few months I have taken to walking a lot more while at the office. Almost every minute of break time is spent walking, and the hour lunch break sees me strambling as far down as the Whitehall Ferry Terminal. It’s about 20 minutes to get there and the same to get back. But they took away the payphones from the terminal, giving me no reason to make that jaunt except that the atmosphere there can be kind of party-like.

Yesterday I encountered a live performance on Fosun Plaza, where the performers were complemented by a sea of pianos, the kind you occasionally see around town, but here they were all in one place. I would have sat down and ripped into some Liszt but it wasn’t meant to be like that. A couple of live performers were pretty hot, playing a cello/violin piece I did not recognize. I could find no information about the performers on the relevant websites. Maybe I will find it elsewhere. There may have been printed materials identifying the performers and thet name of the music they played but I would have missed it in my haste.

I find myself wandering the strets of Ridgewood, not in person as we did Sunday, but from this desk, on Streetview. It is more colorful than I knew, at least it was 2 years ago when the images were taken. Cyclomedia is boss alternative to Streetview for one reason, and that is the frequency with which they update their imagery. Most recent SV for Ridgewood is 2 years ago. On Cyclomedia it is from less than 3 months ago. March 27, 2024, to be exact. But Cyclomedia has its limitations, as anyone who uses it will concur. But on recency of imagery it beats SV easily in NYC.

I need out. Out of this job. It has served its purpose, and then some. But I cannot give my all to a job where the pay puts me below the New York City poverty line. Almost typed “poerty line.” Whatever that is, the pay here probably puts me below that, too.

Going out for a long walk soon. Destination: Unknown. Maybe I’ll try and get to Canal Street