2004-05-26..9:55 a.m.

Right. So have decided I�m more interesting when I�m NOT faffing about writing about boys and their stupid boyness. And I know I�ve been doing it a lot lately, but that is because it BOGGLES MY MIND! My mind has been in a perpetual state of utmost boggle for weeks now and I�ve decided it�s time to stop. That said, this will hopefully be the start of a beautiful return to my regular neuroses.

Although I have to start off with a small dose of proof that I am a MESS, and a phenomenal GEEK besides: Yesterday I tripped and fell over magazine racks in newsagents and gave myself a black eye in my lunch hour. I�m not sure if it had anything to do with my current state of menstrual high times, but I�ve been even more prone to falling over, knocking about and generally near impalation ever since it started. And I know I keep mentioning this, but my appetite for staying up reading Spiderman under the covers with a flashlight is reaching peculiar nigh-on masturbatory levels. I�ve developed curious trouble falling asleep if I�ve not first webbed myself up and gone swinging through the city on the back of my friendly neighbourhood Spiderman. I�m like a fifteen year old boy staying up with Topless A-GoGo.

Am currently desperately proud of Nelle. She�s not only planning on blowing out on the school she teaches for because they gave her crap about ONE CLASS and nearly fired her, but in doing so she�ll be moving to a school based in the same town as her boyfriend, moving in with him into a flat that is PAID FOR by the very company she�s ditching because he works for them too. The sneaky little shit switching sides like that. She�ll be a traitor! A traitor who�s sneaking in sideways, and using up their hot water and gas stove! It�ll be like she�s got them in a head lock and is giving them a noogie all because they tried (and then failed) to give her a wedgie. Or at least in Corporate PoliticSpeak it is.

I�ve been at this place for almost a year now (still temping, the bastards.)(Just wait til I up and leave for my Masters! That�ll teach them! Ha!), and am still frequently blown away by how the playground mentality really never leaves. Working in a corporate environment is completely kooky. My purpose here is two fold 1. to do the bidding of others, and generally be ignored unless I�ve fucked up, and 2. to dredge complaints and ill-will from the noble (and more senior than I) paper labourer from their weary aching soul and leave them sunny and cheerful. Being on reception, I�ve got the privileged position of being able to watch certain drama�s unfold due to the fact that everyone skims their political detritus from the surface of their brain and flings it at me like mouldy seaweed. I am effectively the office equivalent of the cess pool of crap that floats in the harbour of most sewage plants. Mind you, half the time I�m quite certain I could sit here answering phone�s all day wearing nothing but a tiara with fairy pompoms waving delicately like antennae and no one would notice.

The one rather nifty thing is that I�m the first on in every morning, so have been given not merely the Power of Keys, but the Power of the Security Code! I amazed that anyone trusts me to be here by myself, with no supervision. My proclivities towards using office stationery for my own personal amusement (because nothing spells fun like crude drawings on windows painted in hi-lighter, and tipping typex over white couches) can only be excused away as *art projects* so many times.

Right. Other than to report that on my way to work yesterday I nearly stepped on a decapitated baby bird, that�s me finished for now. Yesterday I nearly stepped on a decapitated baby bird lying on the sidewalk as I was walking to work. I�m not sure it this was a high wire accident, or some a bit more sinister, but it felt me feeling entirely nauseous. I just couldn�t stop thinking about the head. Where the hell was it? Had taken long to come off? Had it been hanging on like a clothesline of sinew? Was some kid going to be toddling down the road and pick up this severed head and try to stick it in its mouth, because it�s a KID and that�s what kid�s do? This sort of thing pains me, though not half as much as having your head torn from your body.

One last thing: the other night I dreamt about a Demon Lobster who was threatening to take over the world, and it was up to me and three others to sedate him. It was like a bad episode of Buffy, except with the addition of a banged up olive green VW camper. So more Scooby than Buffy. I would have been terrified if it didn�t look like a Styrofoam Michelin Man, but red and with oven mitt claws. (Incidentally, Lobster Man is a character in the film that�s supposed to be Mary Jane�s big break when she leaves Peter for LA.)(This is just full of the circular narrative structure.)

****meep