Thursday, 16 Feb 1995, 9:15am

Hi Sis,

How did you sleep last night? No dreams about aliens or anything? I feel great this morning. I’m riding high on a caffeine surge of goodness and I want to smile so wide that my head splits in two. Luuuurve that strong cappuccino from “Roozervelts Cafe” on Collins Street first thing in the morning. The guy who usually serves me is this really tall, Italian-looking guy with an accent who always calls me Buddy. Maybe he thinks that’s my name. Went out a-drinkin’ last night with some work folk. Nothing over-the-top, just four vodka and sodas. Good bitchy office chat, though it did get kinda bogged down in tedious journo talk about The Age and the gerontocracy of Australian journalism. Dull, dull, dull. We stayed until about 8pm and then I trammed home for my weekly fix of The X Files (a groovy American Show about two FBI agents and the paranormal).

It’s still boiling over here, 35˚C on Tuesday, 38˚C on Wednesday, and 27˚C forecast for today. Stinky weather.

Same day, 4:08pm

It’s cooled down, but we’re left in a kind of looney limbo, a frustrated hangover from the previous days’ torture. There’s a lot of rubber band flicking going on. I got so bored that I went over to the news agent’s to get some mints and had a Near-Classmate-Experience. Her name was Melissa O’Neil, and luckily she didn’t see me. She was a bit of a gusher, if memory serves me correctly. Always squealing with delight and smiling. Hate people like that, dizzy tarts. I think she might have left at the end of Year 11.

Tuesday, 21 Feb 1995 9:23am

Went out boozing with work-folk. We started at “Klicks” for Happy Hour (Klicks call it the “Attitude Adjustment Hour”) and then moved to the “News Bar”. At this stage the troupe was reduced to Cav, Nathan and I. We had maybe 3 rounds and then went to “Florentino’s Salad Bar” for dinner. I liked it a lot more this time, it was less crowded. Nathan got absolutely shit-faced and two of Cav’s friends showed up, Saffron and the other ones name escapes me, I think it only had three letters. I didn’t eat, and Nathan very narrowly avoided getting thrown out. We left to go to “Le Monde” and Nathan got a taxi home. I was getting pretty drunk by this stage and I think I might have been a bit of a bore. The two girls took turns sitting next to me like it was a community service. The one with longer blonde hair was a painter and had a groovy purse made of hardened leather shaped like a heart. When it was time to go Cav spoke discretely in my ear and more or less apologized for neither of them wanting to sleep with me, which I found absurd (the apology, not the rejection). So I told Cav I was catching a cab home, and I did intend to, but I ended up walking home – and nearly getting mugged twice. Once by some guy hiding behind a tree (I crossed the road) and secondly by some brutish Italians in a red car that was stopped at the end of Flemington Road. The big, shaven-headed one demanded all my money from the comfort of the back seat. Now in a performance fit for a Gold Logie Nomination, I played dumb, he insisted and then I said ever-so cheerily that I had no money, that’s why I was walking. I pretended to go in another direction, waited for them to drive off and I doubled back. I finished my journey home walking with some Irish-lovin’ Civil Servant called Carl. We sat at a tram stop and talked about drugs, Ireland and politics for about half an hour and then on I went.  Man, was I glad to be home. Now please don’t feel the need to share any of this with Mum, she’ll just worry. I’ve decided not to walk home again, no matter how good it is for warding off the worst of tomorrow’s hangover. From now on, it’s taxis all the way. I spent the weekend doing penance for Friday nights excesses, around the house, sweeping floors, tidying up, vacuuming and vowing to assume a life of asceticism and rigorous self-discipline. It’s lasted three whole days so far.

Thursday, 23 Feb 1995 9:19am

Well, it’s Thursday, and I’m still riding high on that wagon. I spent most of last night – well, all of it actually – worshiping at the Television Temple. It was Simpsons and X-Files night, whoo-wee. Can you believe someone actually tried to phone me during The Simpsons? What a twit! I just let it ring out. I don’t hold with this school of telephonic responsibility – (in a high whiney voice) “But what if it’s an emergency?”  Yeah, right, like anyone in an emergency would call me for help! Yeah, J’s just the guy you need in an emergency, “Never fear, I’ll jump on the nearest tram and be there in oooh about an hour and a half!”

Monday, 27 Feb 1995 9:07am

A new week dawns. I forewent my coffee this morning in an effort to see the week through without dipping into the savings. Had a pretty dull weekend by most standards. I didn’t go out, didn’t see anyone. I was even the first to leave Friday night’s drinks over the road but not before Nathan got thoroughly pissed and lolled his head about on his shoulders like an Oliver Reed on Rohypnol whilst reciting Gough Whitlam’s resignation speech in the middle of “Klicks”.

I spent the weekend cooking and watching videos. I made mountains of capsicum dip and even tried my hand at tofu burgers. Slightly embarrassed to say that, tofu burgers. Didn’t like them much, I don’t like fried food, it’s too messy. I’m going to join a library tonight, the Mooney Valley Regional Library. I’m sick of paying for books, even though they do look kinda groovy on the bookshelf. Let’s face it, the only reason I like to have lots of highbrow books on the bookshelf is to impress some chick, but let’s face it (again), there aren’t going to be any chicks inside my house. The closest I’m gonna come to getting lucky will be getting run over by a necrophiliac.

Right am going to send this letter now.

J