Wed 6 Jul 1994 – Had lunch today at “Klicks” across the road from work with Simon, Bridgette, Joe, Pete and Cav.  Talked mostly to Cav, an interesting guy.  Late 20’s, tall and slightly stooped with a big deep Camel and Whiskey kind of voice. Extremely intelligent, it makes me a bit nervous, people with an intellectual edge on me always do.  He’s nice to me and isn’t condescending (like he is to Joe) but sometimes a lot of what he says goes over my head and that makes me tense. This coupled with sitting next to Bridgette made for a rather uncomfortable lunch.  I must read more, broaden my mind, even Simon’s little brother Jude is a bit sharper than me and he’s doing Surveying for Christ’s sake! None of it really matters I guess, I’ll probably be dead soon anyway, if today’s dominant motif of thought is any indication – I spent most of today planning a suicide that would have a minimal effect on those around me.  Those still left anyway.  It involves wrist slashing in the bath and ambulance officers finding the body.  I don’t know what to think of this latest preoccupation with an all to familiar theme.  At least it’s not revenge motivated anymore. I no longer envisage the weeping bereaved with a sense of satisfaction as I used to, though the anger is there still.

Thur 7 Jul  – Had a miserable, angry day choking on my own bile (Heaven forbid I should choke on someone else’s). Spent the morning seriously considering getting the telephone disconnected but changed my mind after lunch.  Brett came in around 2pm and I spilled my guts in Collins Place over a tub of tasteless gummy rice.  I have to admit – guiltily – that it felt kind of good to get some of it out.  I think he took pity on me and I’m going tattoo hunting with him.  I’ve decided to change my phone number once I’ve spoken to Leah and told her I think it’s best we go our separate ways, at least for the time being.

Fri 8 Jul – Mum rang this morning, she’s back form (Qld) Louise’s wedding – her washing machine flooded half her house, she made me late for work but I don’t think anyone noticed.  She told me she was worried that I didnt have enough “human contact” and that I might be becoming a hermit.  I told her that hermitage gets a bum rap and there’s nothing wrong with it.  Maybe she senses some stamp of solitude on me.  Perhaps I’ve taken on some outward mark of my comparative isolation that I’m blinded to.  I thought I had put on quite a good face for her, really.  Started Hermann Hesse’s “Rosshalde” – it’s OK so far, rather thin book though.