– 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.

Dear [my sister’s name], I guess it’s pretty bad when, while at work working on a competition proposal, you can’t help but think to yourself, I hope they don’t win it to spare the residents on the south side of the site a solid wall blocking their view and compromising their light. ↵I’m baffled that [principal of firm I work for] thinks he is an optimist and anti-authoritarian (his words not mine). He might be one: he has projected and keep projecting WINS for all the competitions we have lost and will lose (back to back to back); He is not: simply because he is an authoritarian. ↵[Bull emoji]↵[Shit emoji] | I probably shouldn’t be writing this on here, especially since the title of this _ is something co-opted from one of the individuals bracketed above. Blank my life he’s such a blank (who is still asserting dominance for Captain Yale, who (on to Captain Yale) somehow everyone thinks worked as a research assistant for Hal Foster). Revert to even simpler robotic sentences (but robotic like Kate Blanchett and the whole Manifestos thing at The Armory or that kid girl robot from that–Vicki? Small Wonder?): I am very happy I am not designing for them. I am very happy I have been standing up for myself. Today’s new passive aggressions at the architecture firm: Captain Yale, instead of addressing my question by addressing an email to me sends a mass email that starts with Per [my name]’s question. I’ve taken to ranking my level of annoyance with Captain Yale and Favoritismo and Necessarily Second against my slight irritation surrounding Frampton’s Corb detour in a Loos essay of his. If the KF-LC-AD is a ~2, the CY-F-NS is ∞, →∞. I am ashamed I oblige myself to such nonsense by staying past 6 on a regular basis. | I submitted my work to a competition they submitted to and I got in! They didn’t(!) notice my name on the announcement so I’m sort of in the clear! Watch as I abuse !!!s and the possibility of writing something productive or meaningful in this entry! Good night moonlight I’m allowed bc I care about different things. Or simply care period.

Long time no write. Long time no paycheck. My response to the latter was taking two days off last week in order to do other (paid) work in order to keep all my balances in check, and by in check, I mean more than afloat, because I made some rule for myself that Balance A can’t dip below a certain number of dollars, and Balance B can’t dip below a certain number of dollars and Balance C can’t ever be touched. So Balance B was looking low and that’s the balance that job’s funds get tossed into. I told them I needed all 3 pay cycles they owed and that it was urgent. My boss told me she would pay me by the end of the week. She had not paid me by Wednesday, so I made the choice to take those two days off. So the next entry might start with: I got fired. Or They asked me to leave and offered me two weeks to do so. Or Captain Yale won. Or Whatever. Balance B is back on track and I made two weeks worth of pay in two days. Thank whomever for my other jobs. But here’s the real story: I’m sure my boss at the job that doesn’t pay is pissed / jealous because I was working a job that =ed another person’s / a friend of her’s work being shown at _, where she has not had her work shown / would like her work shown. While watching her texts fill my phone screen all I could think is get over it, be happy for someone else for once. When this boss found out who their competition was on a job, the first thing she talked about when she got back from the presentation was how _ was their competition and–I think I’ve written about this already. All she had to say was that _’s been taking jobs from them and all I could do was roll my eyes behind her back because her thinking that was incredibly egotistical. I felt odd thinking Focus on your own work at her because Focus on your own work is something I’m sure other people have told me in the past. In all of this, I am pleased to report that I am standing up for myself, that I have been working on my own issues with jealousy and always feeling less than, forcing myself to catch sleep, etc., etc., etc.

A bit of a detour. I got a 1-inch papercut on my hand that got inflamed because of a pulp or wood allergy, which was likely inflamed due to exposure from paper or wood, which was then covered by two band-aids and a wrap of blue painters tape because that’s what was around the office. Hours later I was in front of someone I pursued (heavily) years ago. I think he’s the only person who will contradict me, who I’ll let get away with it. Which is its own particular form of love. Which is something: I go to the 9 to 5 because, despite the graphic designer / 36yo I love the work and I love the possibilities of and for the work. I love being able to tell them we’re doing this, and it’s due right now and it’s making me frantic you can’t get it done in the next 3 minutes. Emphasis on possibilities. Emphasis on Love. | Some girl in the East Village blocks past the ON AIR izakaya with Love Will Tear Us Apart sweats on. Love will Tear Us Apart in a tacky font running down her leg. Asian. Pants paired with a cargo jacket. No circle elevator¹ for us bc the building was closed. But there were the two and there’s always love. | Architectures in Love¹ . Architectures of Ambivalence. | I fell in love with him years before we met. | I fell in love with him across the street from the building either of us would call home for 5 years. | I fell in love with him in a Duchampian moment: in front of a fountain, but not that kind of fountain. | The blue of his bag and the blue of the dots on his shirt. The black of his umbrella as it passed the fence out my bedroom window. | I doubt he’s able to recall in the same way. | I miss him tremendously and he’s asking me to love him by _ him _. By letting him _. | Mostly I think men want to be the one making the choice in the matter. If he had been the one who had years befored, we wouldn’t be where we are now. | Tonight he carried the same yellow he wore the day I knew. | When I die you’ll play Y_’s Mass at my funeral and the funeral won’t be very long and no one will speak. | I want to be around people who know how to do one thing: Listen.