(Typed in Sep 2005. Later additions in italics)

10 pm.  Priscilla (Queen of the Desert) on TV.   Bek rang for advice on using 70 mgs of methadone.  Went to Zed purposelessly, computer torn apart.   Waited five hours, returned.  Slept till 6pm Saturday.   Bad goatee growing.   Truly this is the most exciting thing happening in my life, each day feeling the extra millimetre of hair.  At first, rough like sandpaper, then it gives, changing direction with a rub, then finally it has no preferred angle, just soft fur, pivoting like a joystick.   Always wondered how facial hair knows when to stop growing.   Presume there are simple biological receptors in the follicle.

Seven months to holidays, seven more Profit and Loss statements, seven more Reserve Bank of Australia reports, five more (metro) reductions .   Undecided as to how I should behave.   Should I lie to friends/family, act well, act as if life's cool, as if dope's beat, or should I live truthfully, wear my heart on sleeve, stay in bed when ill and stop faking emotions.   Hatred of this life makes me think that the latter is the best route...Trapped in quicksand here, no expression, no life, no desire for future as a result.

Gotta gotta get out of here.