28th February 2003 - "I have so hit my 'zone' for job applications. I'm cutting and pasting from another one I did to to the same place six months ago. "Sound interpersonal skills ..." yeah, yeah yeah ...; "Ability [to] demonstrate initiative ..." What-EVER! The questions are all the same, and it looks like they also cut and paste because their typos are the same too.
Question: how can you have 'initiative' and also be an 'effective team member'? I can be an 'effective team member' ... only if it's MY team. Ha ha.
There was once a part of me that said it was wrong to write job apps on company time. I don't know when it died. I think it was two years ago that it slunk away to my moral graveyard to lie down alongside a few other redundant scruples. Anyway, cranking up Word makes you look busy, and looking busy is good."
27th February 2003 - "Still recovering from lack of sleep. Who should show up at 4am two nights ago, but the (soon to be ex-) husband of a housemate's friend who was spending the night with us because he'd purposely locked her out of their house? Being Vietnamese and short, he couldn't climb our fence so he drove up and down the street in his sporty black Suzuki beeping his horn. We called the cops, but before they came some neighbours chased him away with cricket bats.
Trial separation my foot. With all the details and stigma, divorce is as big a commitment as big marriage.
I experienced frame loss yesterday. The joy of sleep deprivation. The whole world moved jerkily - just for a few seconds as I talked with a colleague. It was like living in a video conference. He asked if I was okay, but I became paranoid thinking that he might suddenly turn into Agent Smith from the Matrix and pop a cap in my ass.
Was told to 'curtail' my DVD ripping because I use up too many blank CDs. The only CDs I burned for the whole month were for work. Totally unfair to get busted for being legit. Looked up 'curtail' in the dictionary. It only means 'limit', not 'stop'. Yippee."
24th February 2003 - "I have a hangover. Not only did I drink too much at Mum's last night, I also mixed champagne and red wine. Bad news. I often wonder the next day how I manage to cycle home. It's like there's some homing instinct in my reptilian brain that controls my little feet on the pedals. No matter how trashed I am, the moment I hop on my bicycle I am riding the Tour de France.
A paranoid fear of saying something stupid accompanies the hangover, because each dull ache reminds us of the crap we blurted out the night before. The pain is psychological as well as physical. Today at work has been like snorkelling in a lagoon of hurt."
5th February 2003 - "There was a guy staring at me in the toilets today. He was fully peeking through the crack in the cubicle door, pretending to wash his hands. I could hear him breathe in and out the thick stench that settles in between the stalls and the basins.
He shifted a few times, trying to get a better position without giving himself away. But every time he moved, no matter how slowly or how slightly, his dark blue tie would swing like a pendulum and I would notice. I was busy laying eggs, but I still froze, like an animal caught in headlights. I didn't think to wonder why he was doing this. All I knew was to keep still.
We stayed in a stalemate like this. Myself like the kid in Jurassic park, hiding in the kitchen cupboards from the dinosaurs with the piercing eyes, waiting for him to pass.
Eventually I dropped a silent fart. He started clearing his throat and left soon after.
He was probably wondering where the snoring was coming from."
