Tomorrow's another day (Sunday January 10^th, 1999).

Judy's at the store, me, here writing, which is not easier than before because it's the struggle to put as much meaning into the fewest words.

Alex Matthews came by today saying, "Help me, someone who should know better took advantage of my wife as she was needing attention and now I want to hurt that person".

He said management described this behavior, from one of our Supervisors by the way, as inconsequential. INCONSEQUENTIAL.

Monday, January 11th, 1999 I let the authorities have my viewpoint and they wrote it down. Bobby Turner told me Alex cried on the way to the gate the previous Friday, the day he was told what was going on.

I'm glad we refinanced the house. January 12th, 1999.

Thursday night, January 14th, 1999

Well, it's been snowing now for about five days, on top of a layer of frozen rain, which I didn't shovel because it weighed a ton and I thought the sun would probably melt it first. But no, and so this writing session will most likely be interrupted.

Alex, no resolution yet. Alex has to go to work somewhere else’s because it's taken too long for "human resources" to resolve an issue of alleged sexual relations between a Supervisor and Alex's wife.

Alex has to leave because the allegations cannot be proved, beyond a doubt. Everyone knows the truth and management finds ways to avoid dealing with the true situation. Facts, facts and more facts until the time has gone so long everyone forgets what they’re working on. Meanwhile, Alex is gone. I've heard the answer is coming, next week, Tuesday. This is NOT inconsequential.

I was watching some movie on Saturday when Henri Mancini's Moon River was playing, used as the theme for a senior prom as it was for me way back to 1964. The music made me think of Sunday mornings with my mother playing Henri Mancini, humming just under her breath and me, lying on the floor reading the newspaper. I can see it just like yesterday and I think that memory, and the peace it gives me, is probably why Sunday mornings are just about my favorite time.

A family just walked by, a black man with his son and a white woman with her daughter and he shouted,"Stephannie, you're making her walk too fast" as the mother dragged her daughter about six paces in front. The father and his son dwelt behind. I wonder, and just write it down.

I called my dad tonight and said to him everything, and said, "You taught me" and he said, "Who’d know you'd take it this far?" We had the nicest conversation ever.

(1/18/99)

I'm probably going to get fired tomorrow because I'm the excess, white, fifty plus guy. I don't know why this is.

1/21/99

Thursday

Tomorrow is Pat Olson's last day and I decided to give her a set of cards for her birthday (which is the same day as mine, by the way) and for leaving, not necessarily in that order.

No word yet, still, on the Alex "thing" which was suppose to be decided by Tuesday, last. "Possibly tomorrow" comes the word. No one's thinking about Alex.