I’m a salad dodger.

J’s Diary Entry

13 November 2001

I have a feeling of profound dissatisfaction with my life tonight.  Bored out of my brains  Wouldn’t mind drawing but no one will pose for photographs for me anymore.  Have eaten a proper dinner plus a large bag of chips and a box of BBQ Shapes.  Am getting fat – Heaven’s only knows why! – and hardly even seem to care.  Am completely incompetent at my job, but at least I’m a great shit-stirrer.  Am currently convincing Dwayne to dress up as a bride to symbolise the merger of the Publishing and MMD teams at work.  Am also forcing the HR Manager Terrie, to speak to elders of the Wurendjeri Aboriginal tribe to get permission to use Aboriginal names for our meeting rooms.  Tee hee hee!   Am also stealing chocolates from fund raising campaign of Lila the happy-clappy Christian – she’s raising money to go to Indonesia to convert Muslim orphans to Christianity. Am also trying to get mealy-mouthed charity-whore hypocrites on the Xmas function committee to put a homeless person on each table.  It doesn’t bother me – I won’t even be there – ha!  I don’t know where all this has come from, but I feel like a moustache-twirling villain.  Fun at the expense of others aside, I am feeling a bit low.  Feel like drinking only I’m TOTALLY BROKE.  Can’t even be bothered having a spew.  I’ve gone over my credit card limit and I have $5 until payday on Thursday.  Bah! And someone told me I looked like a cross between a Hitler Youth and a bus driver today. (Grey long sleeve shirt with epaulettes, thin black tie, navy blue work pants and grey/white trainers.) I’m not sure if I’m feeling down because;

  1. I’m lonely.
  2. I think I should feel lonely.
  3. My job isn’t going very well.
  4. I’m poor and bad with money.
  5. I’m getting fat.
  6. I’m going bald.
  7. I’m bored, or
  8. I’m having some dreary existential/end of youth crisis about life being pointless and yada, yada, yada.

It’s probably 1: – I need a root.  Ah, but there’s the rub. Why can’t I form romantic relationships, and why am I so scared of them? My guess is fear of failure. Fear of being too fat/stupid/poor/unattractive etc.  To get the type of person I want, which is… someone completely out of my league, which I define as success.  Should a relationship even be evaluated in terms of “success” and failure? O shoot me now! Again, I pray for a tumour to take me away from all this.  I really do you know.  I’d be interested to see just how I would handle it for real.  I’m just not enjoying anything (except drawing, maybe) or anyone.  I feel like my lease is up.  Fuck me, less than 50 sodding days to Xmas.  Fuck it.  I haven’t done my tax return.  And I didn’t vote on Saturday – I just couldn’t.  I couldn’t face not knowing what electorate I was in, going through the leaflet snipers, waiting in queue… O God I’m useless at this.  Think I will go throw up after all.

Half an hour later – I think maybe I ought to write about what I DO in this diary, not how I feel especially seeing as how I only ever seem to be a miserable cunt.  I cut up one of my print-you-own novelty temporary tattoos.  I’ve got “Salad Dodger” on my inside right forearm.  I quite like it to tell the truth, tho I don’t think I’d be too wild about it as a permanent addition.  Funny tattoos don’t seem to age well.  Do any?  Jade told me my outfit today made me look like I’d slept in a Brotherhood Bin and stolen some of the clothes to boot.  I can’t disagree with her entirely.  I showed Jesse from Customer Service some of my drawings today.  He’s writing a novel.  It’s a romance set on the Titanic.  He’s obsessed with the Titanic. I said maybe I’d draw a picture of him.

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