I’ve come to realize that I enter this office every day assuming that everyone here hates me. I don’t think that’s really true. But this is such a compartmentalized organization. Each individual is like a planet, or a galaxy, with mysteries and masteries that none shall ever evince. I know not what most people here do, and the sentiment is held by others as well. Churn here means every day there could be new faces, or more likely disappeared faces. I recognize fewer and fewer people the longer I stay here.
I’ve been trying to improve myself in some ways. But I feel doomed, or destined to disintegrate into a mushy quicksand of self-loathing and verbal/textual self-immolation. I’m thinking a bit about how the woman I was with for those 5 or 6 months this year was a certificably insane interlude. What did I think would come of it? I know I was never serious about it, which makes me feel like the liar I sometimes find myself calling the women I’ve known. All attempts at romance and love are filled with lies and fantasy. It’s a mutual affectation, a cultural norm. But with her I think I fell into the usual man trap of believing that the company of a woman makes me a better man, a more valued member of society. And you know, it doesn’t help that society generally aligns with that assumption. A partnered person is esteemed for having been chosen.
What am I supposed to do with myself except shit regularly and maintain appearances of stolidity and resolve? Mind my own business and hope I escape this life for peace. Hope nobody asks me certain questions.
For now I relish my commute. A single-train affair where I always get a seat and have what feels like a personal elevator waiting for me at the interim destination of Cortlandt Street. The return trip feels like a secret. Speaking of shitting, I have to tend to that chore.
