September 25, 2003 @ 11:33 p.m.
Hello. I babble.

Diary,

I have no life. No, really. I know I always say that, but this time it's for real. It's that time of semester again. I am stressed out of my head. To make things even more fun, my boss thought Monash's mid-semester break coincided with Melbourne Uni's (it doesn't), and rostered me on for about three times the amount of hours I normally work in a week. I am rather tired. And boring. So boring.

Today at Uni I hung out with Nick and declared my devotion to Hot Awakey, the god of coffee. I also did a dance routine for a girl from my one of my classes whom I barely know, who walked up to me at lunchtime while we were both waiting for other people and told me she was having a crappy day and felt sad. My dance made her laugh, then she asked me to please stop doing it. I was mildly insulted.

These are the most interesting things I have done all week.

The most interesting thing I did last week was go and see the Eels, which was the best gig ever. I also almost accidentally touched Mr E on his no-no parts, and told him I loved him. Claire tells me this is creepy. Personally, I would call it tragic. I don't know who that girl was and I had no control over what came out of her mouth, or where her hands went for that matter. But I can tell you that E is a man who likes his cotton.

I'm horribly scatterbrained at the moment, a direct result of being both stressed and stupidly busy. I forgot the date of Leah's birthday, despite the fact that we've been friends for six years or so. I've also been forgetting a lot of other stuff. I'd tell you what it is, but...

I'm sorry. I like to write here, but the combination of tiredness and length of time since I last wrote is making me babble. I think I shall depart now.

Except, I realised the other day that in some ways, the porn shop customers were easier and even better to deal with than the goddamn people I serve at the library. And that says a lot. Then again, I didn't get to hang out with kickass four-year-olds at the porn shop. Not that that's a bad thing.

(I am babbling.)

P.S. Sometimes I wonder if my purpose in life is to give new meaning to the term 'morally flexible'.

<<|>>