(diaryland) July 10, 2001 - 10:43 p.m.

I didn't have enough money to get home from work yesterday so I had to get off the train early and walk several kilometres.

First, it was denial. "Oh, this won't take very long. It will go by in a flash."

Then, it was blind optimism. "Hey, this is kinda fun. I'm getting exercise, and I'm walking at night. I love walking at night. Walking at night is fun. Yes, fun. Fun. I love it."

Then it was regret, as the next train zoomed past. "Hm. If only I'd stayed on the train. No-one would have checked my ticket."

Then, I hit the first hill. "Ooh. I think my ankles just snapped off."

It didn't help that all my belongings were in a feeble plastic shopping bag. I tried all sorts of ways to hold it comfortably, but the handles kept cutting into my hands. I got hot and had to shove my jacket into the bag as well.

Then came the self-pity. "I'm going to have to tell everybody I know about this so they can say, "Oh, I would have picked you up, you poor, poor thing."

Then came another form of self-pity; a much worse kind. "Ooh. I'm really, really poor. Poor, poor me. Everybody, look at me. I am so poor. I have no money. When I die and become a famous artist, everyone will feel SO bad. Totally."

But I didn't die and become a famous artist. I began to consider the problem of how to get to work the next day.

"Hm. Could I walk to work? That would take about six hours. I'd have to get up at 2:30AM..."

Suddenly, I was on my front lawn. This was strange. I'd been walking for a very long time. I didn't know quite how long. At least an hour. But it felt like nothing. Maybe five minutes or so. Then I sat down on the couch and had six helpings of dinner. Dinner was chicken.

The moral of the story is, the more you feel sorry for yourself, the faster bad things will go by. And you will receive chicken.