I really like Intern I. She’s not afraid to ask questions, even when it fills her expression with mild embarrassment. That’s the way to learn. I like that she avoids jobs she doesn’t want to do. I assembled a list of Eats for her to try with or without her family that’ll be in town this weekend / in the time she has left in New York, kind of fun because I’m an interested eater.| I spent the past hour trying to find a lobster & crab joint that I went to a year and a half ago. Failed. | We took Interns II, III & IV out to lunch at the _ _ place I’ve been meaning to go to but haven’t because the friend I want to take is always too busy. We stuffed our faces and they’re all great but they’re not getting paid so I encouraged think with their stomachs and go for it. | I learned nothing at work today. Just plowed through all of my tasks. Just pretended there was some happiness in some of it. Who am I kidding, there isn’t any. I told my boss (Favoritismo, not Necessarily Second) off, but I’ll save that for a time when I can write about it objectively. | Good night.

I’m a bit unmotivated today. Backwards: UPS drop-off (needed to size down two sizes for some mismatched (not in size) shoes to work out), hunting for a plant (nothing tall enough), bank for a few bucks, OCDd apartment, dealt with super replacing my fire alarm battery because the landlords insisted they do it (maybe to check if we’re all still alive and haven’t died of CO poisoning–we’d all die from the street noise before that ever happened), went on a run, straightened out library, read a little, woke up at 5, sleep at half past 3 despite watching the show that always puts me to sleep because I learn nothing from it, invoiced a client, ate dinner that I had time to prepare, got home and the sun was out, walk home from work totally weird shit; thought about _ on the train and thought it must be nice for all those people who end up with someone they only share The Future with which is probably what _ wants but–expletive it, I understand this, but for expletive’s sake–I’m not getting into this shit, not now; walk to the train station totally weird shit (leftover pho on control box of traffic light post, chubby girl in sheer-backed blouse with the top of her buttcheeks muffintopping out of her waistband with her underwear tag sticking out of the crack and her backpack’s tasseled doodad hitting the intersection of crack tag and waistband, thinking Stan Allens* instead of Stan Smiths when confronted with a line of people, all strangers to one another, in variations of the shoe, being pointed at and called Dora by some lil girl whose mother dressed her in all black with lil faux Yeezy Boosts, a lot of those weird calligraphers who’ll write your name in worse than wingdings calligraphy on a strip of paper (god that part of town is a mess)). | Work yesterday was bullshit. I got stuck in some obsessive mental hamster wheel: What the fuck am I doing here my bosses don’t care about architecture that I care about, architecture that is at the very least socially concerned, worried about carbon footprints, architecture that didn’t get stuck in a time and if it did took the clock off the wall for 2 seconds, architecture that improves its references, architecture with resilient details, she was right, they have “like” 25 die hard fans and that’s about it, you can’t professionalize by abusing someone who can help you professionalize, architecture that gives a flying expletive, architecture that isn’t money or fame hungry, architecture that solves problems, architecture that can critique and change what it’s whining about, architecture that looks as good from a distance as it does up close, they need to start paying their interns, and me because I’m still owed a paycheck and in 7 days will be owed 2, they need to start giving credit where it is due (naming references), architecture that doesn’t come with a laundry list of awards as a way to legitimize its practice, some people must think _’s d_s are rehash of those by that architect he worked for, would it bother me if his d_s were better than that architect’s when side by side, architecture that cares past whether shit just looks good, architecture that doesn’t need to be photoshopped–I’ll stop. I’m sure I could have written that more clearly, but I’m tired because I’m underslept. | I sometimes wish everyone at work would be more honest with the principal while he’s working through the projects. It just looks bad would suffice. Or, in the case of the writing: The sun will fucking come up tomorrow.| I’m going up to work on the job I care about more tomorrow. Actual architecture, none of this All is Suffering according to one of the principals bullshit.

I left work at 6:30 today and spent most of the day thinking through and resolving projects that I’ve yet to start. But it’s good when I have time to plan (and plan in a way where my bad habits in making stuff are covered). Today was one of the few days I felt like my boss, one of them, (finally) believed me, or one where she realized that I was right about the way things could be organized. The most efficient way to put this in context: I’ve learned a lot about how the office is run based on how the server is organized (overcomplicated, lots of shit stuffed into digital corners, a lot of loose ends (think synthetic rope if anything)). The dynamic of my bosses’ personal and work relationships is easily understood via the server’s organization. I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I think today she admitted that she tends to overcomplicate things. | I’m the type of person who is better at organizing, fixing, dealing with shit for other people. | I heard from the friend I wrote about toward the end of a recent post. She will attend the lecture on Monday and told me someone told her ice cream is good with olive oil. I don’t have an imagination of this because I can’t really eat ice cream. Sounds like a discovery someone bored at home made in the recovering-from-2008 years. I’m glad I will see her, but I’m sort of pissed off she didn’t make it to the opening of the _–she knows how much the work has meant and means to me. She knows the work saved my life, but didn’t even bother. _ told me she told this friend that _ing at _ was a bad professional move and maybe that’s what’s kept her away. I fear the day when _ tells me something that will keep me away. | I’ve been in a bad way and I decided that it has a lot to do with the work schedule and not being able to make food or shop for the food I want to eat. Everyone at work asks me if I’ve eaten lunch and sometimes I just want to tell them I’m not interested in the food around the office. No clue where any of that shit or the shit that’s in it is from. I need to make more of an effort to stop by the _ Farmers on the way to work some mornings. | This post is everywhere. | I miss my sister tremendously. I called my parents and neither of them were home. I’m particularly worried about my father. I sort of hate that my mom won’t retire and move to _ with him. It’s selfish of her to not have a five-year plan. | Dealings with writing and language have been particularly off/ott, and I’ve been sort of dissep about it. I’ve been struggling with it (basic things like communication, mumbling, trailing, constructing and …conducting? clear lines of thought) since I moved back to the States, but, by now, that was years ago. It’s as if I can’t see to the end of a sentence, a thought in my mind when I talk to other people. I attribute a lot of it to the amount of noise I’ve had to adjust to. | Enough. This is bullshit.

I was pretty happy when I got home. Things at work are happier when Captain Yale isn’t there. More shit gets done* and people tend to listen more when he isn’t around.** Expletives. When I quit the job, I’m going to buy him a bunch of balloons, probably those stupid hipster? millennial? letter ones, spell out YOU FUCK (expletives continue, sorry), or perhaps the more tame version (YOU SUCK), decorate his desk with them. Glad I just sorted that out. I was happy at work because I blazed through a bunch of shit that’d been sitting around their office since 2000? 2002? and threw out whatever I thought was just stupid to keep. Which is to write, I threw out and scanned a lot of paperwork. I don’t really know how or why things have accumulated in the way they have and don’t know what drives the compulsion to keep. Supplies, I understand, but not paperwork or printouts of Google Maps of places that have moved 1-3 times since the early 2000s because of mass gentrification throughout the island. I hate thinking that they’re stuck in a time–stop–that they’re has-beens chasing a time when they were actually making work (worth taking pride in (rather than being proud of)). Guess it’s not uncommon though, to get stuck in a time–I shouldn’t judge them. I was happy when I got home because the sun was still in the windows and I had time to work on and finish the 50 __s for a client. I’m excited to send them off. I also had time to make dinner. No texts from the office. And the store downstairs had the package that I thought was permanently misdelivered. Just a good 7-10pm even with the remnant fireworks exploding outside the windows. Back to the reason why I started this blog: I’m taking the teenager’s advice and hanging back until _ can get back to me when _’s figured shit out. That’s all I can really do right now. Oh well.

– No sketchbook in the mail – No first two weeks of June paycheck | – No Captain Yale in the office (PURE JOY) – No one in the office until around 10 this morning (PURE JOY PT II) | I can’t sleep. I should because I have to get on a train some time tomorrow morning to join some 4th of July festivities. I’m obsessing (directionally) about _ and it (obsessing) will soon become inappropriate (due to time, distance, etc.) | A lot of white worn out on the street and a lot of strange underwear that can be seen through it. A lot of cheap poplin dresses blown up by the wind. A lot of toes doing weird shit in sandals and foot overhang in a lot of them too. Just a lot of shit I don’t care to see. | Another huge chunk of Reality that I’ll never master is outright consumption, I bought this with my last paycheck sort of shit. | I like that a co-worker wears embroidered gingham to work. I’m ambivalent about Intern I’s choice of clothing. I don’t know where one shops for pattern like those she wears, I don’t really know where one buys shirts with frill and cutout shoulders in navy blue either. I imagine showing up to the office dressed like my co-workers, one for every day of the week sometimes and I feel somewhat insane or some other word no one’s really allowed to use anymore. If I dressed like Intern I, I would have to buy a whole outfit off a rack, but I’d have comparable shoes of patent leather; I have enough gingham in my wardrobe so the Project Manager is covered; I’d have to buy khakis to dress like Captain Yale, but I have the left part covered (and I could be equally as mean and as big of an assface without trying); Intern II, dressy pajamas; I’m just blanking fine with my what’s-turned-into-a-uniform. I have the same pair of trousers in three colors x 3/ea., the same pair of black socks x 10, some socks with ostentatious flourishes for FTW days, the same pair of shoes in 3 different colors. This serves a single purpose: I am able to stick to a routine in the morning. Part of that routine involves a 15-minute window for getting ready. I pick out the same color shirt, trousers and shoes, everything is done within 5, then I dilly dally for 10 minutes. I never allow myself to change my mind and I never do my hair. Lately, it has become more and more important not to stand out too much: which is to write, I don’t wear the patent leather shoes in my closet (gave them away yesterday), I don’t wear the gingham either (but secretly want to), I’d never buy khaki and no friend of mine would and pajamas will always be a mystery to me. | I don’t know what writing through clothes has to do with anything. | My friend _ plays dead at the relational shit and really likes hiding under her rock. Sometimes I think she doesn’t really have a reason to do so, just excuses. The last thing she told me was that drawings don’t need to be perfect. All I remember thinking was But they can be.

– Buy sketchbook – Laundry – Clean apartment. The only three things I had on my list of things to do. The first two are done. I searched the Internet high and low and wide and narrow and inside out for a not-Moleskine softcover with square corners and paper in a gsm that wouldn’t make the thing too precious that I wouldn’t draw in it. The Internet came up with Strathmore writing journals with blue covers, Strathmore white paper @80gsm, a Smythe binding and square corners. Which is all good and cool because it’s not a Moleskine and it will lay flat and–whatever, there are too few great sketchbooks out there and I guess I really didn’t find one, I found a writing pad with the right paper. After I dropped off the laundry, I got an email about the commission to make 50 _s for a client’s _ _. I made 35 of them for a _ _ about a week ago. She wants a few more, and I’m more than happy to pick up any work that’s not what I do at the office (which has something to do with making a week’s worth of pay in 2 days). Which means that cleaning the apartment dropped off the list and I’m now distracting myself from making the 50 __s. The only thing that makes staying at the 9 to 5 worth it is that I can run _s off-hours. My father tells me I should be a little more discrete about it and I tell him I don’t necessarily want to keep the job. I wonder how long it will take for me to decide that Yes, I can function in Reality like everyone else, I can hold down a 9 to 5 like everyone else, I don’t need to keep proving this shit to myself or my mother or _. I’m trying to work out a trip to Maine because my friend from _ bought a house there. He is up to the same–no good–and has decided to g__w _ for a living. Which is fine, but doesn’t make any sense to me because he is _, capable (but maybe not as smart as he wanted to become), etc. I guess he isn’t really motivated either–which I understand because part of the whole I’m Going to Function in Reality thing involves playing at being unmotivated (which Reality certainly requires). Reality also requires a bit of ambivalence toward what food one shoves in their mouth, which I don’t think I’ll get around to mastering. $15 lunches will always make me feel uncomfortable because people in this world, in this city can’t eat and shit just shouldn’t be so convenient (or as bland as it is here for $15). What else did I want to stuff in this post–I’m going to _’s house for the 4th and I’m excited about it. I’ll probably fall asleep in a corner and stuff my gut to make up for forgetting to eat over the past two weeks. A. emailed and said she would be stuck at work the evening of the _ lecture–I try so hard to involve people in my life (probably part of the Reality project), but they (and I mean people in this city) can’t make time or don’t have time to make. I’m getting to a point where I cannot balance the Reality thing with all the shit I want to do, so I have to figure out another way that lets me deal in extremes (the only thing I do well).

[This post is all about dealings at the 9 to 5 to 8 to 9 to 12 to 3–just a dump of aggravations re work:] “As an employee in New York, you can file a complaint with the Department of Labor if your employer fails to pay you all or part of the wages you earned. The Department of Labor investigates your complaint and uses information you provide, as well as information provided by your employer, to determine the unpaid wages due.” I’ve written about this already. And I’ve written about not getting paid and about the panic that comes over me when any of the balances dip below some arbitrary amount that I decided on when I first moved to this city. When I asked for a payment a few weeks ago and told my employer it was urgent, she interpreted urgent as desperation for cash; I should have stressed that I meant urgent as in pay the expletive up because what you’re doing is expletiving inappropriate. They owe everyone in the office a month’s worth of pay. Anyone who relies on their wage from them is super expletived. | Yesterday’s work passive aggressions: My boss decided it was my fault she didn’t get a _ refund for a _ they mounted LAST YEAR (read when I was not employed by them); it was my fault that she did not READ the reminders I sent her on a weekly basis when she still had the time to deal with her precious _ refund. I’m the only person she publicly blames; yesterday’s instance bothered me more than it usually does. | Today’s passive aggressions: El Capitan Yale / Captain Yale / Capitaine Yale / キャプテン Yale / Kapitän Yale decides that, because he has to jet off to CA the day of a huge deadline, I have to drop off the proposal documents. He informs me of this by printing out the submissions requirements and highlighting the drop-off location instead of expletiving emailing me that he is a lazy assface who can’t do anything himself because he is an entitled mother’s son (with a pocked face, bad posture and bad manners) / asking an intern to do an intern’s work (but they don’t pay their interns so somehow I’m the only alternative). | Today’s general dumb shit at work: _ is due at _pm; a/n (if read acronymed)/ _ that “like” every XS-MD size architecture firm south of 59th Street, especially those cleverly named, submitted to. Employer decides it is appropriate to really procrastinate on a huge chunk of the proposal–but that’s not what I’m complaining about. She sent another huge chunk of the proposal via FedEx yesterday expecting that FedEx would honor the _:__ delivery time (they never do, why push it). This chunk of the proposal arrived an hour before the deadline and the project lead had to chase down the package and meet me–you get my everything down to the last minute drift. They never left the comfort of producing architecture in school, which for them was ages ago, but the difference is that they stay up all night now and never make it to the final critique (read WIN with any of their* submissions). | The first thing I Googled when I got home from work: How to deal with a passive aggressive boss. | So that this doesn’t end in aggravation: the real project lead who does all the work (not Captain Yale who was assigned the job) is the most patient, caring person I know. She’s sort of the only person at work–at that job–who makes it worth my time. | I think I’ve dumped more obvious than usual in this entry and it’s best to stop.