I am sitting at my desk. I don’t like to do this, my own ramblings on company time, but there is nothing happening here. I was away for three days, per my 4-day schedule. Today, Friday, is my Monday, and Monday is my Friday. Mistakes are made. I learn to live with them. I am a mistake. Not quite an accident but something that could have been quashed before arrival. I think about women too much. Yesterday I passed Terrace on the Park, where an ex-gf had her wedding reception. I could have envied or felt sad at her getting married away into the world she swore she wanted no part of. But instead I simply envied that she got to be in that place. I’ve never been in and would like to attend something at that place. I wandered around Corona after a quick romp through Flushing Meadow-Corona Park. The payphone is still there, still dead, I just wanted to be sure of its continuing condition of decay and uselessness. I dreamed about a blonde woman who I met at a shopping center. After brief chitchat she asked if we should hook up. I said sure. It’s the first sex dream I’ve had in a while and it was awesome, but depressing to wake from. I’m going to see if I can get the attention of the beautiful black woman who gave me suite the look a few weeks ago. It’s very difficult to meet people here. I’ve been friendly with a Muslim woman who is game for walking the full length of Manhattan, from Marble Hill to The Battery. I can’t tell if she’s really interested in me, though. She may be more ensconsed in “The Culture” than it seemed at first. I’m smothering the panic stewing inside. My life is meaningless, and wasted. A new correspondent initiated contact with me, at a time someone else was requesting an interview for their Twitch stream. I did not care to do an interview for someone else’s channel, but the correspondent was something new, something different. People don’t do this anymore. You don’t reach out to a stranger on account of a mutual interest or lore. In the earlier days of this stuff I would contact all manner of people who’d created personal web sites. I went to events and made meaningful contacts. That doesn’t happen anymore. Not to me, at least. It’s all become too big. So when someone out of nowhere who’d found my Payphone Radio wanted to talk about eyeball floaters I was all in. It’s a global conversation again, this time with someone from Oregon. There may never be another E, with whom I corresponded so intensely during the lockdown. That woman left me shaking and shaken, deep into my core, where I saw the ugliness stewing deeply. She raised every sense that I have, made my cock stiffen harder than any other woman has, and in the end it was too much. I saw uglinesses in myself that should not be there, and her manners became unpredictable. I expect nothing even remotely approaching the connection we had. I made her happy. That much I say with certainty.  Something is caving in. I think I walked 17000 steps yesterday. I’ve learned the obvious, at last, that stopping to sit and take a break extends the duration of my walks. My left asscheek gets sore at about 12,000 steps, but the arthritic condition in my right foot has seemingly evaporated. Okay, more people are arriving for work and me typing like this looks strange. Away.