I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour - you can guess the rest
2002-05-12 || 9:45 p.m.

Rebecca was just saying to me that she really likes my diary. I don't. I think it sucks. Just like everything. For me anyway. For christ sake, I can't even fucking type. Probably having your fingers on the keys one key to the right is a language somewhere in some universe. Right. That would just be about my life, that I could fluently speak a language that exists solely in another dimension.

I certainly don't speak any known language that any other human being can relate to. No wonder I have so many fucking animals.

You know what I find so depressing about the internet and other people's diaries - that they have fucking lives. I'm pleased for them obviously, being philanthropically minded and of a humanist bent but even so ... come on, a bit of a life wouldn't be too much to ask would it now?

A pie chart of my life would be:

90% spent with/or attending to children.

9.9% spent alone.

0.1% spent in the company of others.

And oh yes, the 'others' are all couples. Ha ha fucking ha.

Oh well. Rebecca just made me laugh. It won't translate into type but it was fucking funny.

Oh what the hell, I'll give it a go, after all not much else to do but mope.

The latest Nike advert has Elvis singing on it. Rebecca just said that Katie said to her, "who does that singer think he is - Elvis Presley or something!" Rebecca replied, "er... well, yes actually".

I wish I was Rebecca. She's so fucking funny, so much nicer than me and I just love her so much.