How to follow up such a BRILLIANT, INSIGHTFUL, EARTH-SHATTERING piece of writing as my last entry, a rampant, intense tour de force, described by author Tom Wolfe as "a scorching epochal sensation" and by writer Naomi Wolf as "simply irresistble, darling."
The Wolf People of Vega 4 also had good things to say.
I am, of course, getting side-tracked by lies. Filthy, damnable lies.
The truth is, I have a problem...
The fact is, my life is too erratic.
This is what I was thinking this morning as I got into my car.
My life is either dizzying highs or... dull as a breadknife.
I actually got excited by a saving of 1.2 cents this morning.
I needed fuel for my car, so as to drive to Traralgon. So, I drove towards the United, but then I thought, why not go to the Mobil? It'll be slightly quicker.
Then I thought, but the United usually has cheaper prices, which should it be? Efficiency or Cost?
This was something of a gamble... if the United was more expensive than the Mobil, or the same price, I would have lost.
It was 1.2 cents cheaper. I let out a small cheer. Something must be done.
I tried to alleviate the situation last night, by having one of my trademark "dreams" (patent pending)... but how does one initiate a strange dream?
Music had seemed to be the key factor in the past, so I threw on NOFX's Heavy Petting Zoo... their sweet siren song gently lulled me to sleep.
I'd set the sleep button thing for 40 minutes, so I wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night to "WHATEVER DIDI WANTS, SHE'S GONNA GET IT" which is the sort of thing that could easily disrupt one's sleep patterns.
I sunk into my pillow... I could feel my being slowly evaporating into nothingness...
Suddenly, Nick Cave is wailing...
"Well, most of all nothing much
ever really happens
And God rides high up in the ordinary sky
Until we find ourselves at out most distracted
And the miracle that was promised
creeps quietly by"
Fuck, that CD is loud... turns out that Heavy Petting Zoo only went for 35 minutes... I threw myself out of bed and turned the volume down... then fell asleep on the floor.
I had the most amazing dream, friends... I can't remember any of it. All memory of that fantastic adventure was wiped by my aching back upon my awakening.
Maybe I'm just having a bad day.
So, for a lack of anything new and original and exciting and witty and seductive to say, I bring you the following fascinating post scripts:
1. Back in September, me and the lads went down to Melbourne to beat the drum.
While there, we found a briefcase in the water. It was full of sodden schoolbooks and a key-ring with all sorts of fascinating keys. Keys that would no doubt unlock all sorts of awesome shit. Houses, classrooms, cars.
At the time, I promised that I would discover the owner of the briefcase, and the manner in which said briefcase came to be sitting in the bottom of the Yarra.
But I never did. This is because I only just found out the other day, when I said to SteveSteve, "Hey SteveSteve, whatever happened with that briefcase," and he was all, "Didn't I tell you? Oh, I must have told someone else twice."
As it turned out, this guy had been CARJACKED by a masked bandit, who had made good his escape with the simple application of pedal to the metal, taking our fair teacher's briefcase with it.
We can now happily file that one under "solved." But we can't. I don't even have a filing cabinet.
2. You might recall me getting my hair cut. You don't?
Oh, for SHAME, gentle reader. It was really awesome. Much more awesome than say, what we're reading right now.
In that sordid tale of scissors, hair-repelling smocks and mirrors upon mirrors, my put-upon hair sylist (Janelle) was shocked to see that I had been cutting my own hair. The story ends with me fondly imagining her suicide.
But that ending was a lie. For she didn't commit suicide!
How do I know this?
Well, some months later, my father got a haircut of his own. FROM JANELLE! And she remembered me! And my terrible hair.
I was right about crushing her soul! RIGHT, I tell you.
Well, that's cheered me up. I guess today isn't so bad after all.
Earlier, as I worked on a somewhat more angsty draft of what you've just read ("Oh, my life is so boring! Nothing ever happens to me! Avril understands my pain!") the thought occurred to me that if I were to just leave the office, I would no doubt find myself attracting crazy people like ants to an ant-magnet.
But I had no reason to leave the office. It was nice and cool in here, and besides, I'm feeling a lot better now.
What? What's that? What's that, O Stomach?
You're hungry, well, let me just grab my lunch from the lunch drawer.
But the lunch drawer was empty. I would have to leave the office.
I went to the front door, and pushed the door open. The warm air from outside washed slowly and sensually over my face, like a lesbian-spongebath. With air.
I stepped out of my climate-controlled heaven, and into...
The boiling demonic furnace that is Traralgon on a day as hot as this.
My generic white office shirt shone incandescent in the sunlight. I looked down at my ever-twitching hands, and they just about blinded me.
I examined the contents of my wallet. Two dollars and sixty cents. I would need to obtain more funds... but how?
"Got any spare change?" I asked the ATM machine.*
"Anything for you, darling," it replied, fondling my groin area... "ANYTHING FOR A PRICE!"
Suddenly, it sprouted legs and arms, and ripped itself from the wall, chunks of concrete flying everywhere... it grew in front of me, it's eyes glowing red... "WILL YOU PAY THE PRICE, MORTAL?" it's voice seemed to echo across millenia - and just on the edge of hearing: screams, pain, torture - it spoke of a price, but it also spoke of a rebellion long past, of rejection, of being cast asunder... it spoke of regret, hardened to malice... I heard all this and more, and I reached out to touch the ATM's gnarled claw.
"It's okay," I said, "Sometimes we all feel lonely."
Well, this touchy-feely crap is all well and good, but I've just completely skipped the whole point of this addition. Fuck.
Okay, so let's pretend that none of that happened.
I needed to get some money from the ATM, so I walked over there, and stood in line behind some nubile teens. Some other dude was using the ATM in front of them.
The dude got his money out, and the girls walked over to obtain some money of their own. Meanwhile, the dude has stumbled over to me, and he says, "Click... manaroo? Ah, skidlamtereen bop de dop!"
"Indeed," I say. I mean, what else could I say? Um... how about, "Are you okay, man?" I hear you all cry.
Well, you win, because that's what I said next. But he just ignored me and walked off. By this stage, my potential Summer girls had skipped off to have pillow-fights and practice kissing, so I got my own money out and then... the dude came back to use the ATM again. Later, I saw him checking out the lotto place and then the real estate prices. Hopefulmuch.
The point is, I had noodles for lunch.
Wait, that wasn't the point at all. Well, I don't remember the point, but I'm sure it was something great.
***I know. I did it on purpose. To infuriate *you*, specifically.