Ohhhh. Hello? I don't know where I am... looks like.... Delia*s catalogue. Why are you smiling? WHY ARE YOU SMILING GODDAMNIT!??? GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!!!

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

IF YOU ARE READING THIS, YOU ARE MY BITCH.

First of all, I would like to apologise for the cheesiness of my existence, as if blogging wasn�t cheesy enough in and of itself, wading through the daisies and half-wits makes it even more unpleasant by a quotient of 20-35 points (according to the polls). I mean, Diaryland? How excruciating. If you think it sounds like a complete fucking nightmare of the Id, then you�re absolutely right. But I have not only techno-fear, but techno-apathy and techno-distrust as well, and cannot be cool. I felt lucky enough just to sort through the grueling step by step process, and, well, here you go:

ALL ME.

ALL THE TIME.

Isn�t it wonderful?

Welcome to the breathtakingly self-absorbed World of ME.

Because this really is the ultimate in narcissism. It�s better even than going to an analyst (I�m sure somebody has noticed by now [just this very second, I noticed] that you can�t spell analyst with �anal.� I�m sure Woody Allen has noticed). I think I will stare into this mirror until I get dizzy and distorted, until I get sleepy�. O lovely me� no need for food or nourishment� no need for anything else�

I try to be, if not physically up and moving around, then at least cognizant before 1 in the afternoon. I should be consciously swallowing my own saliva and wetting my eyeballs by blinking and maybe stretching my toes. This is my goal.

Would I be more productive and purposeful and just generally perkier if I were to get up before noon? Or is this just a lie perpetrated by the state and unseen Protestant authorities who put things in my locked brain rooms? Will it make me more POPULAR? Doubtful. Anyway, I�m not getting up before noon just to find out.

I have managed to set up a routine for myself�just a small one. Baby steps towards civilization. Baby steps towards social normalcy. Baby steps towards institutionalization. It (the routine) consists of standing up, wading over to the computer and dialing up the internet. While it is dialing and honking and verifying, I take a piss. Then I check my email. That�s it. That is the only routine I�ve managed to establish after 2 months of blissful unemployment. I�m proud and ashamed. I was never properly imprinted, they say.

Now is the time for reflection, for organization, for catching up. For massaging the beans out of my brain and the legumes out of my lobes. Why am I so lethargic? Anemia, I say. And is Routine the only coping method available? Otherwise, will I ever get into the habit of flossing? A nighttime routine�yes? And what the fuck are these scaly bits of red of my face? Leprosy? Syphilis. Where is my brilliance? Where is the purity which should be shining out of my pores like a beacon of genius, drawing the folds of lambs unto me? What are these doors, closed to me in my own mind? What IS this Freudian crap? You know Freud put it there himself just to extort money from us later. It was never there before.

So what is behind those doors? The looming monster of Penis Envy? My father? Calculus? The Portrait of Dorian Grey? Or an empty dusty floor. I know just enough to be a danger and menace to myself.

Every single one of us, no matter how stupid, is looking for something that makes us shudder and get down like Holy Rollers�to speak in tongues�to have undying faith�to worship at the altar of some all-encompassing Ism�to have things Jive and feel Chemistry and fall in straight perfect lines of perspective like ducks suspended between Nirvana and gravity�to blow deep and clean with no tacky residue or sticky bits of old food which must be picked off with fingernails. To sleep really well and finally�

The brightest of us learn to let it slip through our fingers softly, holding on will only drive you into madness and obsession, will only poison everything in the end. The most perceptive of us, the most poised and secure, can ride it with no hands.

Whatever it is, people want it fast and cheap, in fast-acting gel-cap form.

I suppose I don�t care, as long as it doesn�t hurt too badly.