Wednesday, 26 July 1995 9:11am Howdy S, Another day. Woke up late, no time to make my lunch. Crept into my clothes, sleep unfurling smokily from my back as the tram sped me down Flemington Road. And now here I am again, at this desk, blank as a soldier. What difference does any of it make anyhow? We’re all of us just big old sacks … Continue reading If everything is pointless, why not do anything, absolutely anything?
J’s Diary Entry Friday, 7 July 1995 I don’t want to do anything about Chloe unless I am completely sure that I won’t be rejected. And there’s the question of whether she’ll want me once she knows more about me. Self-mutilators don’t get much good press you know. And there’s the whole sex/performance thing which so poisoned the air between Leah and I. What if … Continue reading What if I wig out in the bedroom and she tells people?
J’s Diary Entry Tuesday, 4 July 1995 I’m walking down Collins Street, around 6:30pm, and I see this couple walking towards me, and I think, How do they do it? How do they make it seem so effortless? This drifting apart and coming together again, like the sea and the shore. I don’t know how people can just meld so comfortably. I feel twisted and … Continue reading This is my brother, laying his shredded heart and soul bare. If you only read one of his posts please make it this one. S
Friday, 30 June, 1995 9:30am Hi Sis, So, how about Hugh Grant’s little brush with the seedy underbelly of urban America? Poor bloke, he’s really blown it (couldn’t resist, sorry). I feel a bit sorry for him, did you see the look on his face in that mug shot? It must be on the front page of every rag in England. Everyone here keeps saying … Continue reading I’ve read that beautiful chicks think that being beautiful is enough in itself, and they don’t put in any effort in the sack.
J’s Diary Entry Tuesday, 27 June 1995 Sometimes I think about how much I’d like to explain myself fully to someone. Someone who would just sit there quietly, open and non-judging. I’d like to explain to them how a cheery boy with a love of reading developed a penchant for books exploring the “darker regions of the soul” he had not personally acquainted himself with. … Continue reading I fear the vulnerability of confession.
J’s Diary Entry Sunday, 25 June 1995 It’s funny how little things can have such an effect on you. I woke up early this morning, feeling over-vodka’d, and staggered down to the kitchen to gulp down freezing water to replenish my brain. I went shopping at the Little Food Mart just down the road, and I have vowed to never shop there again for fresh … Continue reading I just want people to know I’m not what I look like.
Thursday, 22 June 1995 9:06am It is so cold here today. It’s 2 degrees. Two. OK, so it’s not the loneliest number or anything but it’s close enough. It’s one of those perfectly still and clear cobalt blue mornings where your breath hangs in the air for ages. I rode one of those old W Class trams up Collins Street this morning. You know, the … Continue reading God, she was so old, I thought she might die sitting right there next to me.
Monday, 19 June 1995 3:03pm S, Dad called me at work and just told me you’ve finally named my niece – hell it only took you 9 days! Brady, (I hope I’ve got the spelling right). That’s really nice, I like Brady. So how are you coping as a new mother? Is Brady keeping you up ’til all hours? You will have her walking and … Continue reading This letter will probably get opened and read by the French Secret Service and I’ll have dodgy looking Peugeots parked outside my house for months.
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 … Continue reading I could write instruction manuals on how to be excessively trite, insensitive, hackneyed and flippant.
J’s Diary Entry Monday 29 May 1995 A quiet day. I actually got a lot of work done. I’m working to a deadline – Friday – now, so I’m more focused. It was OK at work, no-one really teased me for vomiting at Nadia’s house, though Nadia did seem a bit distant. I have a vague recollection; I went to the toilet and came out. … Continue reading If you leave can I come too?
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