I could write instruction manuals on how to be excessively trite, insensitive, hackneyed and flippant.

Tuesday, 6 June, 1995 5:52pm

Hey Sis,

WHERE IS THIS BABY?  I’m waiting here.  Come on woman, spit it out!  It’s technically 4 days old!  Stop hogging the limelight and let the little tacker out so it can shove you back in the shadows.  God, I’m getting impatient, this pregnancy thing is old Sis.  Bring on the Bub!  Bring on the Bub!

Anyway, let’s talk about me now.  I had a dullish weekend spent around the house doing handyman stuff. You know, gluing this, poisoning that. Generally affirming my masculinity. I re-hung your prints, blah, blah, blah.

I did actually make it to the dentist on Thursday, and it was one of my less worse visits (you know what I mean).  I had two small fillings done, though he said I was keeping them wonderfully clean. I was so proud I could have burst.  He said it was probably soft drinks that caused the two holes, so I’ve sworn myself off sugar.  It’s lasted nearly a week so far.  I have to go and get an X-ray done of my noggin for my wisdom teeth. Dr Rogers seems to think they’ll have to come out, but that particular dental procedure doesn’t fill me with dread because there’s no drilling involved.  It’s the drilling that freaks me out. I spent the rest of the day (I had booked the whole day of work) shopping in the city.  Didn’t buy much, but it’s nice to look and have security follow you around because you’ve got a bag with you. You can tell it’s an undercover security person when some fifty year old guy is looking intently at curling wands just down from you.  I saw a coffee machine that I want desperately.  It’s a nice matt black Krups one, and it costs $200. I don’t actually need it, but it would look impressive in the kitchen, and impressing other people is what I live for.

 

Thursday, 8 June 1995 5:12pm

Brett just rang. He’s coming over tonight, dammit. It’s awful to say, but whenever he comes over I feel like my house is a filthy leper colony because he’s only there for five minutes and he starts complaining of headaches and feeling sick and asks me what chemicals I’ve been using around the house.  People – more trouble than they’re worth.

God it’s been a boring day. Boring and long. this day has stretched interminably, abominably, inexcusably.  I wanna go home and have a bath, it’s pouring rain and I’m bored, bored, bored.  Nothing to do, nowhere to go. Whinge and whine.

Another person is leaving work. It’s Quinn, he’s in the Business Law Section.  It’s a shame, I liked him.  He’s off to Hong Kong to try his luck. I’ll have to stick pins in his voodoo doll.  I hate people around me succeeding, it makes me suffer by comparison. I’m having one of those days where I wish I could strip myself bare of everything and just be an automaton with no hassles.  Effacement, that’s what I seek.  A total blank with no predilections, no preferences.  Sigh, I need a coffee to perk me up.

It’s a long weekend coming up, and what am I doing?  Nothing. Why am I doing nothing? Coz I ain’t got no friends. I probably shouldn’t write letters when I’m in this sort of mood. It doesn’t make for good reading, and you’re always embarrassed when you read back on it later, thinking “How could I be so trite?” You know, triteness has yet to be raised to an art form.  Maybe that’s my niche. I could write books that excel in flippant triteness. I could write instruction manuals on how to be excessively trite, insensitive, hackneyed and flippant. I think flippancy has a lot going for it too.  It’s a good way to really offend someone without being rude or aggressive, for example;

“What am I going to do? My boyfriend is sleeping around and I’m pregnant with his child!”

“Never mind, dear, these things happen. Do you like my hat?”

Yes, this is an appealing idea. Shallowness and a complete disregard for others’ feelings. Fun and mean, but seemingly innocuous. Maybe I’ll try it out on Brett tonight. I guess what I should really write to cover the whole area is a guide on passive aggressiveness, or “How to Piss People Off without Coming Off as a Complete Cunt.” Insidious ways of inflicting emotional injury, that’s what I’m getting at. The sort of thing where the injured party says “How could you be so horrible?”  and you can say “What I didn’t say anything,” making them feel it’s all their fault. Geez I’m horrible.  Naaaah.  I’m just bored.

Oooh, I saw the scariest X Files last night.  it was this episode set in some small town run by Satanist. It was so scary I turned on all the houselights to go to the loo, geez it was freaky.

Anyway, I’d better go.

J

 

 

 

 

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