Disclaimer

Though a "Diary" my online diary is a work of FICTION.

It may at times strongly reflect actual events of my life, often how I honestly perceived them and display my genuine reactions. But not always and everything contained within should be treated as a fiction.

This is also a personal diary, so by reading it you are violating my privacy. And as it is a personal diary you are not allowed to hold anything you read in it against me, as you shouldn't have been reading it anyway.

Also, this diary is not to be read by anyone who has gone out with me, would like to go out with me in the future, or suspects I may like to go out with them.






Click Here for the old site, as backed up by Wayback Machine (I have gone with the 2007 version as it is the latest that is still before vodafone crunched a bunch of my files)

Tuesday, 30 July 2019

So much rant in me, but I should sleep instead.

Weird dreams (about doing dishes with Carla in a kitchen I had never seen before, in a supermarket carpark and which seemed to belong to former local MP Hilary Calvert, only too be interrupted by my 3rd form maths teacher to tell me she had found a wife) woke me up too early.

It has been a thing recently.  Not enough sleep, too many dreams.

And about the first thought after waking up is the disappointment that I didn't die in my sleep.


Every time I talk to anyone I know, and they ask me how I am, I hear the little voice screaming at me for being such an awful liar when I say fine.  But I'm a New Zealander, 'fine' is the only socially acceptable answer to the question.


I should try to sleep.

Ranting can wait for another day.

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