Oh fuck, I have so many bills to pay. I wish I didn't have to worry about bills. Anyway.

I just saw the Rihanna-Eminem video - the one with Meghan Fox. It's a little bit of a turn on, I am very disappointed to say. What is it about abusive relationships that get you so, I don't know, charged? What is it? Not enough drama in our regular lives? Make up sex? Raw, honest brutality? What? Why is Street Car so hot? Why is Stanley, who in all honesty, is an absolute prick, so fucking attractive? I hate that we have turned out be such weak, insecure, women characters with such low self esteem, low self worth.

I wish when I looked into the mirror, I didn't feel so disgusted by what I saw every time. I wish I could embrace myself with all my flaws, with all my physical anomalies and be content. Why don't you join a gym, do yoga, eat right - they ask. I don't know - maybe like all lazy human beings, I'm waiting for a miracle to happen. Maybe one morning I just wake up, free of cellulite and unwanted body hair and a feeling of complete fuckallness. Laziness, I read somewhere, is a disease. Do we get drugs for it? Miracle drugs?

Sigh. Anyway. I need a miracle worker right now to sort out my bills. This kind of responsibility fucking sucks.

Oh you are so hot. And I am so not scandalized. But yes, I have a gigantic arse and can be very shy. Heehee.

So strange, this fevered meeting. This little wine sipping and talking about this relentless city. Thank you, that was nice. Let’s do it again some other time.
Now if only I wasn’t constantly thinking, 'I need to do my upper lips'. Fuck.
Haha.

Ah, how brilliant. I am sitting in a dark, empty office, popping bubble wrap, waiting for some tapes to come in and Elliot Smith is warbling on. At first it felt a little sad, but now I am slowly getting used to the idea.

It's only ten, but why does it feel so late?

I love my coping mechanism. After a wave of craving (food, drugs, alcohol), I calm down, listen to music, read a magazine, browse through a website and begin to dream all over again. What’s the worst that can happen? Everyone I love will be hacked to death. Yeah, that’s pretty rough. Or how about I become a paraplegic? Yeah, pretty goddamned awful too. I lose my job. Meh. I’ll find another.
In case I do, I think I’ll be absolutely fine.
For now, I am listening to Lou Reed on a very bad set of ear phones (my brand new cool ones I suspect, have been stolen). I feel pretty darned good for a Tuesday morning and I am looking forward to the movie I am going to watch on my laptop when I go home. I’m a little drunk with freedom.
Is it weird that I don’t care?

Just so that you know