Wednesday, 5 July 1995 4:02pm

S

Got my Group Tax Certificate today.  I earned $27,500 last financial year.  That’s $2,500 more than Simon, and we’re on the same wage.  It comes from all that overtime I did last year when I came close to burnout.  All that effort, and I don’t really feel $2,500 richer.  It does make me, paradoxically, want to make some more cash on the side though.  I can’t really do it working here though, the same opportunities are no longer available, and I don’t know if I could drag myself to do the same old work again anyhow.  Simon suggested that I get a job at the local video store.  I pooh-poohed the idea at first, but it’s actually growing on me.  It couldn’t be that difficult, and I could work nights.  I even like movies.  How would you go about asking for a job though?  I guess you write an open letter to The Management and wait for a call.  What I should do is establish some kind of cottage industry.  God, who am I kidding?  I’m so lazy it’d never get off the ground. $26,000 a year is simply not enough. I want more.  More MORE MORE!!

Dad came over and we did the handyman thing on my bathroom window.  It was sticking and wouldn’t close properly, so Dad brought over his power-sander (all good tools have the word “power” in their title) and we sanded back the frame and put some sealing paint on it so it wouldn’t swell with the rain.  I tried to sand it back myself by hand ages ago, but it was a no-goer.  I didn’t tell him you were out of hospital, coz I figured he’d call you himself soon enough.  He’s invited me to Pomona again, and he talks about it like I’ve already agreed to go and it’s all planned.  Very frustrating, he should know better by now, that’s he’s setting himself up for a fall.  He should know I’m gonna pull out at the last minute.  Hope fucking springs fucking eternal, doesn’t it?

Thursday, 6 July 1995 1:13pm

God what a dreadful day I’m having.  One of those leaden-limbed days where even seeing your enemies’ broken bodies flutter in the winds as their impaled corpses rot on large wooden stakes couldn’t make me crack a smile.  And what’s worse is that everyone around me seems to be oppressively cheery.  I was working away solidly with a whingey Smashing Pumpkins CD in my Discman (I work a lot quicker when I’m doing this grunt keying if I have some music to listen to) and above the music I can hear people rollicking with laughter in the tea room.  It makes me want to go down there and throw a wobbily, shrieking “Shut your filthy holes” Don’t you realize some people are busy being depressed?!” I think I’m just tired. That’s funny, remember when you were a kid and you were grumpy at one of life’s injustices, and the adults would say “I think someone’s a bit tiiiiired” and it would pissed you off even more because you weren’t tired, you were pissed off.  And so here I am, fifteen years later, trying to explain away a rotten mood by telling myself I’m tired.

Same day 4:43pm

The plot thickens….. remember the whole Chloe thing in my last letter. Well Leah just rang. She was speaking to Jenny who was co-host of the party wither the Chloe/Leah conversation took place. Jenny told Leah that Chloe “in a tizz” and “didn’t know what to do” after talking to her about me.  I told Leah to get more details, but I’m a bit worried I might be going for the bait Leah and Jenny have laid for me (Leah’s been trying to set me up with someone for the last few months and Jenny hates fat people i.e. Chloe’s current boyfriend.  I’m still not going to meddle in any extant relationships, but if she drops her man without any prompting from me, my rather complicated set of morals could still sleep at night.

Friday, 7 July 1995 9:19am

I thought about it last night, mulled it over, and I’ve decided to steer clear.  It’s just not worth it, the intrigue, the stress, the expectations, the demands on me, my time, my money….  The list of very good reasons goes on and on.  Anyway, the whole thing seems a bit sleazy, or dishonorable at best. I’m such an old fuddy-duddy.

I ought to get going, it’s Friday.

J