2003-07-17

Good god, there is not enough alcohol in this world to calm my nervous system at the moment - I feel like I'm walking a burning tightrope of desire, trapped between want and grab, aching for the finish line. The finish line is a red velvet boudoir with a sweaty tradesman and a bottle of Bombay Sapphire, and I don't think I'm ever gonna get there... fantasy material only.

Am being a bit bolshie and feeling like work is at once good for the soul, and something that only slaves do. Mind-numbing doesn't even begin to describe the morons who inhabit the fashion industry, and quite frankly I have had enough of deciding which hemline will make my life worthwhile this season. And when you look at all the other possible jobs out there in the world there are really only a few where you feel vital and necessary and not like some office rat in a bizarre experiement to see who will crack first under the fluroescent lighting.

Not that I want to be an ambo, or an ER doctor or a cop... smash 'em or patch 'em, not for me. What if I don't want to do anything? Not even go on the dole? I don't want to be a single mum with a mullet and a brick council flat because that is kowtowing even more to the man - you have basically pimped your body by having a child just to guarantee you $200 a week. Je-sus, how fucking depressing. I wish I were more communist, but instead I see the value in capitalism. Shame that I haven't learnt to exploit it at all yet.

Am having second thoughts about the wedding. Don't even know if I want to get married to a man at all... what if I find my lovely shingle-headed girl and we live in sapphic ecstasy forever? Oh sweet love, in your man pants and braces, breasts bare, small tattoo on the shoulder, black hair shiny and sharp against your neck. Been a long time between girl drinks for me, and I do miss the nectar. Oh hedonism, come and find me and rescue me from the great ennui of domestic drudgery!

I could drink a bottle of Bundy and its only 11am.

bitch - moan