2002-12-29

I am sated... I have shopped and eaten enough to last me for another year. The stockings were filled and emptied, rituals observed, family pacified with tinsel embedded goodies, shortbread cooked and eaten, couches lain apon in a state of fullness, squabbles had with parents and siblings, and the big shout out to capitalism. What would uncle Joe Stalin think of it all? Not that I'm a commie... I'm way to lazy to contemplate communism or socialism as viable formats for my base existence.

Still no booty. Not even a quick and desperate grope in a seedy bar with some overweight stinker wearing Lynx deoderant and Puma trainers (my usual place of resort for a quick'n'nasty). Am feeling like my libido has left the building and is not returning anytime soon; this is probably for the best if it has nothing to get excited about. Even the new vibe just looks kinda depressing, knowing that I had to buy it to replace a worn-out one. So instead of sex I am filling my life with Pascal's Christmas Assortment (lollies). I have eaten a kilo of sweets in just under a week. I have watched 20 DVDs. I have scratched and picked at myself until there is not one pubic hair, not one pimple, not one fingernail left unexplored. I have finished all my sewing projects. I have gardened, cleaned, baked and become Martha Stewart. OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!!!! That is what is wrong with me! I have entered Martha Stewart-ness, the evil state of creating useless knick knacks in order to avoid thinking about a lack of sex and any meaning in your existence. Crikey, I am in desperate need of a Steven Seagal moment, a kick arse experience with a bad haircut and a dodgy kimono. Even a Bruce Willis second (explosive device in a confined but highly populated space) would be useful in getting me out of this mental slump...

But we're still in the middle of the silly season. I have one more week of holidays to go, and absolutely nothing to do. Perhaps now is a good time to take up meditation again? Then I can spend all my time thinking about all the nothingness that is going on. Gee, nirvana is just a cup of green tea away.

Perhaps if I stopped being such a fucking whinger and just found something useless to do then it might just be a bit ok. But I am not good at useless. I am terrible at just hanging around. Oh lord help me, now I know why terrorists exist - they get bored over a holiday period and suddenly blowing up letterboxes seems like the only way to save your sanity. I wonder if I have any C4 left in the cupboard? Or maybe Martha Stewart has a recipe...

Coming soon, my new year's revolutions

bitch - moan