Hubris.co.nz

I’ve got a week’s sick leave, so tomorrow, I’m off to a bach I’ve booked for myself in Otaki. It looks fabulous. Two nights by myself to read and write and home-spa. And the time off over Easter has been grand so far. There has been cleaning, and chilling, and millions of episodes of Nevermind the Buzzcocks. I’m very excited about my wedding to Noel Fielding. I just worry though that my hair won’t look nearly as pretty as his.

I saw the doctor last week, or the week before. He was new to me, and I won’t be going to see him again. He wrote down that I was very insightful about my depression, and I was like “well yes, this is not the first time that this has happened” and he was like “I won’t mention you’re overweight” and then made me get on the scales. Huh? I mean yes, we all know that being healthy helps with your mental age. But then he went on to suggest that maybe I have poor body image and that’s why I’m depressed. Thanks buddy, I’m so glad that you were able to make an assessment like that after five minutes. Of course that’s it! Cured now! But he gave me my increased prescription and waved away my concerns about getting nauseous from the increased dosage. Of course, I spent the next couple of days wanting to throw up. Now I take my pills last thing before I go to bed, to try and cut back on the tiredness that they give as well.

But yes, they’re working. I’m functioning again. My site launched at work, and it seems to be going pretty well. Our washing machine is still broken, but now I have Bambi’s microwave to save having to get mine fixed. The house is clean and tidy and ready for a flat inspection tomorrow. I have new projects on the go (shoosh, don’t tell my counsellor because I promised her I’d wait to start them), and many many places and things crying out for me to spend my money on them. So I think I will instead buy a new vibrator. That’s more important than paying off the IRD or Land Transport, right? Although that reminds me that I need to renew my Bust subscription and buy one for Kat. Hmmm, I think perhaps I should stop spending so much time with the Wellingtonista. They are expensive friends to have. Even if they do give good footrubs.

So yes, that’s my updates. So looking forward to two nights completely and utterly by myself. I’ll be taking my cellphone but I’ll turn it off. I’m aiming to do a lot of writing, but even if I don’t, I’ll do a lot of reading, and chilling and chillaxing, and that’s what’s most important. Wahoo! See youse later.

Friday 19; February, 1999

Simon’s friends Aaron and Don were over tonight all sitting around in the dining room staring at Sisi’s puter while I was online on mine. They were bugging me a little bit anyways, being crass and Aaron read over my shoulder the comments I was making to Jo and Matt about them. Anyways, their conversation turned to the recent trial in Italy where a judge ruled that a girl wasn’t raped because she was wearing jeans and “everyone knows that jeans are impossible to remove without help, so the sex was obviously consenting”. That verdict makes me angry enough as it is, but then Don and Aaron started making jokes about planning trips to Italy to take advantage of the situation, talking about cutting holes in a girl’s jeans so they could rape her without fear of consequence. I was speechless with rage. I snapped off the computer without bothering to say goodbye, and stalked out of the room.

I spent the next hour alternating between crying and shaking with rage. Sitting crosslegged on the end of my bed, I listened to Fiona Apple and watched my knuckles turn whiter and whiter. I had to use my right hand to make my left hand release my remote.

How dare they? Who the fuck do they think they are, joking about something like that? I mean, I know that political correctness gets taken too far sometimes, but their comments were quite possibly the most offensive things I have ever heard.

More than anything I wanted Simon to click, to come in and make sure I was okay, but he didn’t. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time, because after my conversation with Isobel this afternoon, I’d just started to understand and begin to come to terms with um stuff and now that’s been interfered with.

Oh god, I’m going to try a new tactic now – and put everything out in the open. Please handle what you’re going to read with care. I’m more fragile than I’d like you to think. And if you want to talk about this at all, please sign that guestbook or use the email address provided.

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