RED BULL GIVES YOU WWIIIINNNNGGGSSSS!!!!!!!

Opening the blinds which have previously reduced my study to a wide closet with papers and pens instead of brooms and vacuum cleaners, I experienced the cathartic realisation of how important it is to have the odd organic form around you. Just to be in touch with living things- the feather-duster pine signalling jerkily against the glass, the tree standing like an old war soldier against the wall with limbs crooked, gnarled and dismembered, the idle vine which lounges and sprawls…It’s amazing what this colour green can do to your disposition. Imagine what it would be like in the cities devoid of nature. Looking out from your yellow-white, air-conditioned office to see only man’s industrial advances, or, man’s environmental devastations…with only a bare blue sky to remind you steel and granite and brick were not the materials that built the world.
Sometimes I’m rather proud of Australia, although the thought of being a patriot is terrifying. I shall not yield and assimilate with those ridiculous zealots who fly flags in their own backyard! Preposterous expressionism. Appreciation, but not devotion is my practice. Perhaps not enough appreciation though…how easily it slips from mind that I perhaps should believe in a god just because I’m not starving somewhere in a warzone, oppressed, alienated, exploited like in some godforsaken deeps. Although the common phenomenon is the opposite, isn’t it? Repression encourages faith more than it repels it.

I find it an ugly aberration of justice that some people have to sacrifice so much for their optimum career, to wade through stifling years of drudgery- while fortune favours others, and their working dream fuses with them early in life. I'm not embittered towards the latter, though i probably will be, when the time comes.
This train of thought blossomed from contemplating how wonderful it must have been for groups like Monty Python and Black Adder; groups which just sprang into life in university, born of friendship, a shared sense of humour and pure wit. Ah, the lucky bastards.

The doctor surveyed his patient on the other side of the broad mahogany table. A crisp notepad lay in front of him, spidered in a delicate scrawl. A steady tick resounded sharply against the blankness of the interior. It was shaped as a duck- a new installment- the Upper offices hadn't noticed it yet, and the doctor intended to reap all the benefits of his item of idiosyncratic indecency in the meantime. He sighed.
"Kate" he began. "I sympathise with your situation."
"Do you doctor?"
"Yes i do."
Kate chewed her lip.
The doctor had a sudden urge to reach across and grasp the hand of the unfortunate soul who sat across from him. Fate was cruel- the longer he stayed in his profession, the more he realised that. He denied himself the urge however, recalling with a wince the last time he had spontaneously expressed physical empathy. The nasty business had had him in court for weeks. The front cover of times, 2002, flashed through his mind- Alleged Homosexual Assault By Psychiatrist.
"Kate, I'm afraid you have a very serious condition. The term for it is nowadays flung about a lot, and because of that it has absorbed many different meanings." He leaned forward. "But in a psychiatrists phrase book, this condition is very severe indeed, and..." he paused, "near incurable."
Kate looked on the verge of tears.
"There are ways," he continued hurriedly, "to alleviate it however, and my dear, for your own sake, i implore you to follow them to the letter, to the letter, so you may have a chance to lead the a life without everpresent pain and hardship." Why Lord, he thought, why dost thou torment thy people? But he would have to say it. He must tell her. Just get it over with.
"The condition," he said, his heart breaking, "is called idiocy."

Damn ball with it's damn loud music making me dance in the most damnable way possible. I might as well have been on drugs. In fact, i rather wish i was, because then i'd be able to blame it on narcotics rather than my own permanently deranged self.

Oh lord, this is agony. And to think yesterday i was lounging in front of the television, watching an extremely dull program about god knows what and enjoying myself thoroughly. Well, i wasn't really, but the comparison makes the memory bliss. But there is no past, there is only present and future. I've got to tell myself that, otherwise i may submit pathetically to temptation.

The only way to get rid of temptation is to submit to it.
Oscar Wilde said that...or at least something like it, probably more elegantly elocuted.

Dammit, i was going to say something interesting, but it drifted away in the brief interim of typing, where i travelled to the online dictionary to consolidate that 'elocuted' is an actual word. ..oh dear.

i guess that's just too bad.