I got up and went to work today.
Everything about the commute was different and weird,
but it wasn't till' I got to the building that I realized that it was saturday.
I didn't have to work.
I didn't have to do anything.

So I walked around the park.
I need a hobby.








photos by Michael Hart

During my one hour lunch break my thoughts were consumed by her.

The first thing she said to me when I walked into the office this morning was,

"Why didn't you shave today?"

I felt my face and said, "Sorry, just slipped my mind."

That was a lie. When the alarm clock went off at 7:30 this morning I made the conscious decision to try and snooze until my hangover was gone. But that never works. When I finally got out of bed, I still had a hangover and I didn't have time to shave.

I knew she would say something about it too.
She always comments on my appearance.
How am I supposed to live up to her standards?

She is always perfect.
She is so pretty.
She is so clean.
She embodies the protestant work ethic.

Sometimes I watch her through the glass wall of her office.
I can tell that when she is on her computer she is not surfing the web to waste time until 5 o'clock.
She actually cares about accounting.
She has a passion for it.
I can see this passion in her face.
It's like she is figuring out complex riddles that reveal the key to happiness.

How does someone have passion for accounting?

My parents do as well.
They are passionate about accounting.
I understand it, I went to school for it, I'm an accountant
But I have no passion for it, it's a job.





I went to a restaurant in Battery Park, where I always go, becuase I like to look at the water and the Statue of Liberty.
But I couldn't eat. I couldn't stop thinking of her, and what I could do to make her see the goodness in me.

I lie on the grass imagining her apartment.
I know she lives in the financial district.
It must be really nice.
I bet it smells good.

My apartment is a shit hole way out in Queens.
It takes me an hour to get to work, and I'm always late.



I continued lying there, and I realized the major transformation that I have gone through the past two years as an accountant.
I am becoming a Bob. My entire life I have reffered to myself as Robert. No one ever called me Bob until I entered the lower rungs of the American white collar work force. And now, I can feel what has been slipping away the past two years, my Robertness. My Bobness is taking over my Robertness.
I don't want to be a Bob.
I don't want to be fat like a Bob.
I don't want to be stressed like a Bob.
I don't want to be tired like a Bob.

And most of all, I don't want to be lonely like a Bob.
I am lonely, and I have been lonely for two years.

I need a change.
I need to abandon the elements of my life that nurtue the Bob within me.

photos by Michael Hart