at 10am...

Today is tomorrow where yesterday is concerned.

I wish it was tomorrow.

My grandmother split open a toe. I don't know how it happened, I was napping.

I made brownies. With orange and rum. Wish I had some Cointreau though.

It's not a good idea to blog when your desk is right next to the major walkway in the department.

It's times like these that you wish someone would just sit and talk with you rather than go about your work. Or at least give you something to do. Or not.

I was thinking of bringing my laptop here, except for the fact that it wouldn't be nice. Maybe I'll just bring a portable hard disk here. Hyeh hyeh hyeh. And play Fallout.

I need a faster processor for my laptop. And more RAM. And while you're at it, just get me this.

I need a holiday from this holiday. And maybe more interesting posts. And more importantly, but not as pertinent, the ability to be my quirky self with more than a handful of secret-life-options enabled.

work work...

10.15 am

Day one as an intern at some merchant bank. Delightful. I'm already feeling lost. Sitting here in this cubicle place thing. Only another 7 plus hours before home time. Whee.

10.16 am

Been told a lot of random things I'm already forgetting. Guess that's what happens when you didn't really have a clear idea of what the fuck you're getting yourself into in the first place. Heehee.

10.20 am

It's been awhile, but I don't have anything to do. Hell, I might have to resort to playing with myself *ahem* to stay awake. I do not understand the lack of workplace efficiency. I'm thinking that people tend to be more efficient when they aren't. It's the only way to explain the bloke that's intermittently reading newspapers, napping and playing random games on Yahoo! Just absolutely fah-bulous.

10.50 am

Found a copy of Forbes. Or as Evans would call it, Foh-Base.

11.05 am

They dropped a stack of previous research articles for me to read. Some of it is fascinating shit. Some of it is pointless drivel on stuff. All of it are compilations of news articles coupled with a few simple opinions put into a sleek looking format to make it all look professional-y. Or something.

11.49 am

Fallen asleep twice already. Hyuu. They don't have my passcard yet. So I get to play with this nifty remote control trigger or something. Bwahahah. Heard there's a cafeteria and some San Francisco Coffee downstairs. Hwoo.

11.51 am

Just wondering how in the Nine Hells and Seven Heavens and 5 Earths anyone can stand an office job. It's so incredibly mundane, it's boring even.

12.44 pm

Lunch break! Gotta NOT eat like this anymore. In other notes, I need a new bed. The freshly repaired junk heap is already giving way again.

2.19 pm

Sitting around reading research reports reminiscent of blog entries. This is either so the job for me (and 5 million other people around the world) or a serious lack of research type writing ethics here, or that investors are absolute dimwits when it comes to understanding fanciful writing styles. I take it all their definitions come from Encyclopaedia Dramatica.

3.41 pm

Yay! Internet connection. It's slow as a dingdong bat, and the firewall blocks Messenger, but there are ways around an eville corporate propaganda machine! Also, I have no real assigned tasks so I can fuck about until they give me something to do. Or not. Whee. Only 2 more hours to drop all balls. Except mine. I like my balls where they are.

diets...

Dammit. My bed just collapsed under my weight. That seals the deal. I'm fat.

Time to go on Liberace's watermelon diet. Bleh.

maddening...

People always say that you don't miss something until you don't have it anymore. I found that I live a lot nicer and happier when I'm away from my family.

It's difficult to live when there are people nagging you over pointless things, and pointing out every damned flaw. Like, I'm fat, apparently. More than half the family stated that most clearly at the family barbecue gathering. Also, my hair is kinda fucked and I'm wasting money.

I suppose I could easily take it all in jest, if it were actually FUNNY. You'd think they'd notice that I am far from the kind of person who can take personal appearance as a joke. You'd think also that they'd know better than to poke repeatedly at a person with some sort of history with suicidal depression. You'd think also that I could make it rain purple chocolate soda at will.

I've been accused of being antisocial. It just so happens nobody likes the things I do, and when I try to engage in their activities, I've been pointed out as ignorant and sidelined. I have no heard much, if any, positive statements since coming home. Everything from my dress to my face has been scrutinized and shot down. I have been contemplating just sitting in my room with my blanket woven into a rope tied around my neck hanging from the fan spinning at full speed.

There are fewer great disappointments than to come home and realize that they don't really seem to care if you're around or not. I just can't bloody wait to get back to Melbourne. Or die.

back...

I am. The weather, murder is. Humid, it be. Suffocating, it is.

Bored, I am.

shotgun...

Both barrels are now empty, reloading for two more. Still don't know if I hit the targets.

I'll be back in three days. Miss me then.

say my name, fame...

The dearth of recent posts is kinda of a problem with having too many readers. You're always afraid to offend. To the point where I have had to have a seperate and anonymous blog. Except that one now has too many readers who know who the fuck I am.

The resultant lack of quality posts has driven people who read this (READ: you) away. So now I don't really have much of a problem people reading stuff and feeling touchy.

Except people are unpredictable and they could google up some serious shit on me. It's a good thing I have such a bloody common name.

I've heard that some people have lost their jobs over blogging. That's like reading other people's diaries that happened to be lying open on the coffee table, you bastards!

Blah. This is sickening. I'll be home in pretty much less than a week and it's becoming hell to even figure out what to do about this whole contract termination. I have nowhere to live when i get back. Wish things were more predictable, almost. Blah.

Packing your stuff in anticipation to go home is kinda like what those suicidal people do. Cleaning house. Ooooh. THERE's an idea.

People sicken me. I should set off a humongous bomb that causes sterility and stupidity. Wait. I don't have to. People are already stupid. But not sterile. Damn it.