Dear Diary

Constipated again. Why is this happening to me? I don't deserve this! I am too good for this.

Remember that ad for Metamucil or Anusol, with the young woman lamenting to her diary about being constipated (from the latin anusfringium - disused rectum)? We need the diary form in adverts now more than ever. Dear Diary, I bought a ute today. My wife left me. Oh, woe is me. Or: Dear Diary, don't forget to watch Dancing With The Stars, my favourite celebrity is appearing.

You know what I realised today? I love thinking about what I'd like to with my life. I love looking and thinking and wondering and hoping. And reading. So much potential. So much promise. Some would say my own head's so far up my arse that in fact my arse is up my arse too. Fair point. My genius is Labouring Over Details.

I have come up with what I call the three-tined approach. Tine one: relieve crushing despair through visions of a happier, more satisfied future. Tine two: avail myself of various techniques to improve current enjoyment of job, such as worrying less and doing more, taking time to do the important but not urgent things, and making defamatory statements about my colleagues and superiors. Tine three: improve the out of work life, so that even if work is a huge pile of horseshit, there's so much other loveliness going on I can take it in my stride, like an Olympic walker being made love to in the middle of a long and arduous race. I did some lovely socialising this last days, and came to an important understanding about the future of homes, I ate Franks Pizza and Clem's Chicken, I went for a swim and did a personal bessed 11 laps!

Les Biles

Feel the stone face in your head
Feel the pain from building a shed
And I wait
For you
Slight of hand and twist of fate
On a sealy posturepedic you make me wait
And I wait
For you
With or without you
With or without you oh oh
Ike Cunliffe
With or without you
And you give Yusuf some hay
And you give Yusuf some clay
And you give
And you give
And you give Yusuf a dre-
del

How I learned to stop worrying eggs

I must, I must, I must increase my Busey for he's a jolly good Pharaoh
You are a worrier prince. I was in the school the other evening, and the sky was a deep blue and I was playing basketball. The moon was full and huge and I was happy.

I bless Ra the fierce sun burning bright
I bless Isis Luna in the night
I bless the air the Horus hawk
I bless the earth on which I walk
I bless the air through which I fly
guided by full moon's night sky
to the ring with globe in hand
and moments later back to land

I need to speak to the Earl. Can you give me his number?

The first one was like one of those sticker removing tools. Chipping away at the edge, but a bit of a mess left behind. The second one clean washed away the rest and I was happy. I'm back on level footing but must keep my wits about me. Am I conscious right now? Am I present?

The Joy of Full Time work

I'm trying to get used to being a full time worker bee. Essentially, at its core, it f*cking sucks. Part of the problem is my workload lately - it's been a bit high, meaning I don't have time for the good parts of work - reading up on policy developments, thinking properly about how I'd like to do things, the ability to execute in a top class fashion that comes with the poise that comes with not being rushed off one's feet. It's true, and a relief, that I appear to be learning how to deal with some of these stresses. A marker perhaps, of my gradual transition to a competent worker. But does it change anything fundamental? These days I have less time and even less energy or ability to do the things I'd like to, or I used to, outside of work. I feel less like myself. A few opportunities have recently shown their face, and the prospect is there that I might be more satisfied. Having a more stimulating job - something that actually really truly grabs my attention - is one way I can see to improve my life, workwise. Another way might be to have a job that leaves me so much mental space and physical energy that I can achieve anything I want to outside work. I've been in this situation before with part time jobs, but I believe once embedded in a non-demanding but non-interesting full time job, that too would suck. So is that really all the hope there is of making something out of the majority of my waking life that work constitutes? Finding something a bit more intellectually and spiritually energising? It's a bloody good start but I put it to you, dear reader, that any human being that ends up pouring their heart and soul into a job for forty years or more does themselves, their souls and their society a disservice. (A fortunate few escape this because of a truly rare match between job, person and world. A great many more, I hazard to guess, tell themselves that it's not so bad, plus anyway this is as good as it gets. I disagree.) The reason is in order to be a proper human, a proper living thing, a proper member of society, you need to do much more than deposit yourself into a workbox from 9 to 5 for your adult life. I don't deny the many benefits us humans can gain during our working life. I only say that this is far, far below what could be and what should be, dammit! 'Course, I could be wrong. These could be the death leg wriggles of a cocky about to reincarnate into a fully fledged faithful worker bee. Well if they are, I might as well enjoy them.

F*ck work coz it's really, really f*cked.

newsradio

Maribus Bender: Brendan Nelson, you've been quoted as saying 'no comment', is there anything else you'd like to add?
Brendan Nelson: Simply this - tomato sauce. Supersize me!
MB: Yes, but surely you'd have to concede, your approval rating is pitiful to the max.
BN: Look, I don't comment on the numbers. Suffice it to say, the set of all natural numbers includes both irrational and rational numbers.
MB: Very well. Can I just ask you about your treasurer, Malcolm Turnbull?
BN: Very much so.
MB: Yes, is that right?
BN: Yen. I have a deep hole in my yard. It's a well.
MB: Brendan Nelson, thankyou very much.