October 05, 2003 @ 11:54 p.m.
"I don't even know what I'm missing yet, but I know I'm missing something"

I've had the most surreal fucking week. I can't even remember half of it, even though it feels like a lifetime. It's just...weird. All these odd things happening seemingly at random. I'm not even sure how to articulate things. The fact that I'm a mere few hundred words off finishing an essay that's due tomorrow probably doesn't help.

So...news. I have none. I've worked every day but one for the past two weeks. I got back to Uni from mid-semester break tomorrow and I'm really looking forward to going back because it means time away from work, and that's just sad. Although it's gotten to the point where I'm ready to start stabbing people. Which is probably a breach of my contract. But whatever. Me and my coworker Mr M have been thrown together a lot of late, and he's in pretty much the same state of mind as me. So there's been a lot of muttering about hating people (him) and the need for post-partum abortions and the right for library employees to stab patrons at will (me).

I'm still trying to work out how people who frequent public libraries and therefore must value education in some sense can be so fucking stupid. I'm not sure I'll ever come to a conclusion. Although I'm partly laying my suspicion on the girls who come in who are young enough to still be in the Saddle Club reading age but are slathered with makeup and dressed like angels straight from paedophile heaven and just generally living up to the definition of the word 'hobag'. I'm sure they've got something to do with it.

I so totally hate stuff right now. Also, I'm apparently fourteen.

I'm just fucking over my job, although as Nick of the Canadian Stalkerness has pointed out to me, more money means more ho's, and you can never have too many ho's.

My mum is in Greece as I write this, presumably doing as the Greeks do. Not like that, you sickarse fucktards. My one day off this week was spent seeing her off at the airport and then getting lost on the drive home, for fuck's sake. But I think the seeing off ought to rack me up some Good Daughter points, even though I'm a disappointment because I turned out fatter, uglier and weirder than she'd hoped (issues with my mother? Never!).

Also, studies conducted over the course of this weekend concerning My Many Personalities While Drunk have concluded that while I'm Going To Get Naked Now drunk me is quite popular (at least in theory), but Tearful and Paranoid drunk me does not go down so well. No pun intended. Okay, I lie: pun intended.

Gahhh. I've got so much happening at the moment. Mostly mental, as usual. Because I am mostly a mental person, or something. Apparently others think so. I've recently become some sort of poster girl for mental illness among people I know. It's weird. Apparently being clinically depressed makes you an expert on schizophrenia and shock therapy. Who knew? I'm just going through a lot at the moment, most of which I don't want to write here, and you most likely don't want to read.

So I will leave you with the following mental image: John Howard lifting weights while wearing a pink g-string bikini.

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