(diaryland) July 25, 2001 - 10:22 p.m.

Hi.

I just got another one of those nutty "Dude, am I actually going completely mad?" scares today, but I forgot what it was that made me think it. It was probably something silly like me visualising some kind of bleeding alien and not realising that people are allowed to have imaginations.

But sometimes I think, "Argh! Woe is me! I am bored and will end up being a shitty-ass architect for the rest of my life till I die and what the fuck are you supposed to do to make yourself feel better because I sure as hell know getting a shiny car won't fix it and even if I actually get to be a good architect and become the most famous one in the world I would still have this feeling and people who dream of fucking (insert your favourite rock stars here) is a lot of peoples' comfortable unattainable goal but it isn't a goal because it would be downright horrible and I'd never in a million years want to do that kind of shit and even if I do a mass painting with my own blood and then accidentally die afterwards I still won't feel all that crash hot. Why?"

What am I supposed to do? Argh! Help!

OK. Visualise bleeding alien again. Deep breaths. Phew.

It's just that the joy of looking at Autumn leaves isn't cutting it for me at the moment and it's kind of what I rely on. I want to do stuff. I know exactly what I want to do. And I will still do it. I need to do something else as well, though. What is it? Tell me.

I'm so not having a "Who am I?" moment. I'm so not. It's more a "Shit. Somehow, I am panicking." moment.

It's quite inevitable, really, isn't it? I'm just going to have to achieve the ultimate in pasty loser middle-class wank and go live in Cuba and pretend to be a revolutionary.