I just found out I have to hand in a final draft of what I’ve written of my thesis so far on Monday week. Said thesis, while I’ve been working hard on it, is admittedly a long way off being finished.

See Aimee.

See Aimee panic.

PANIC, AIMEE, PANIC!!!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to buy myself a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of Scotch.

I went to see Margaret Cho’s show at the Athenaeum tonight. She was fabulous. I’d previously seen one of her televised shows on SBS, Notorious C.H.O. I think, and I’d enjoyed it and had bit of a giggle, but didn’t find her overly hilarious, although I really liked what she had to say - very political and thought-provoking and right on, sister, but it didn’t have me clutching my sides. However, the Assassin show tonight was hilarious, and I was laughing and hooting and cheering almost as much as the gay boys in the row in front of me. Maybe her comedy is better in the flesh, or maybe I was just more in tune with her humour tonight, but whatever the reason, I thoroughly enjoyed myself and did a fairly respectable impersonation of a hyena on laughing gas. I think I can well and truly count myself in the realms of hyperventilating Cho fans now. Plus, it was good to see Ms Nous, however briefly.
I went with my boss and her husband and my co-worker; our tickets were a present from the boss to say thanks for working so hard and rocking so much, and she told us to look on it as a team bonding exercise. I have already pointed out that my boss is the coolest boss ever, but in case there were any doubters, this should confirm it.

While waiting for my tram home, I was accosted by a homeless man who told me that I had to be at the Exhibition building tomorrow morning at 7:30 for a barbecue, and that God had told him he had to tell me. He also told me that if I did not turn up, he would hunt me down and knife me. He didn’t clarify if this was also a directive from God, but considering my on-again off-again on-again permanently-off-again relationship with the Big G, I wouldn’t be entirely surprised. Then he asked if I was married, and was affronted to discover I was not available. Which I can kind of understand, because I bet the “I will stab you” line is usually a real winner with the ladies.

I love this city.

This is a true story. Happened to a friend of a friend of mine…

Actually, it is a true story. I still work at the library, but not so much these days, due to the fact that they don’t give me as many shifts as they used to. But a friend and colleague of mine, whom I’ll refer to as Tish because that’s her name, keeps me in the loop with everything. She kindly agreed to let me post this anecdote from an email she sent me recently:

“One of the borrowers came into the library today and while I was checking his books through he commented that it was getting dark so early now. I said that at least we were past the solstice now …meaning that soon it would start getting lighter. That’s not how he took it.

“Instead he started telling me about how he’s a seventh level wizard (the highest level) and through numerology and his gypsy bloodline on the day of the solstice time stops, the Egyptian gods of 5000 years ago pass through and come alive, and he transcends to a higher state of consciousness - the ‘Jesus’ level. He also told me that he was a Buddhist and he had to be very careful as those powers can be used to kill.

“Then he pointed to the book I was putting through for him (Numerology for Dummies) and told me that was why he needed the book.

“I just kept thinking ‘must…keep…straight…face.’

“I swear to God I’m not making any of that up.

“Also there was a man who thought people were spying on him through Microsoft Word, but he wasn’t as funny.”

After two and a half years of working in this very special sector of the public service, I can attest that one could not make this shit up if one tried.

When you start insisting that your companions refer to you only as Googlor, Mistress of Internet Information, it’s probably time to stop drinking.

Now I have post fright.

My sister Anna, who lives in London, was home with the flu when the bombs went off. I have never been so pleased to hear that someone chucked a sickie in my life as I was last Thursday night. I just wish she’d come home. I’ve been wishing that for a long time. Sometimes it’s hard hearing “I’ll come home soon, I promise” when you know that’s not true and when the person in question is deeply depressed and isolated and on the opposite side of the world.

I wanted to post more about the London bombings, but I honestly don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to say that hasn’t been said before, and eloquently, or even what it is that I want to say.

Reasons I haven’t been around:

1) Internet connection died.
2) Sort of fixed Internet connection.
3) Computer died. Cue Aimee sitting with head in hands, thinking of all her un-backed-up work.
4) Computer fixed. Back everything up. Still not sure what went wrong with computer and slightly nervous about it all.
5) Internet connection dies again. Hangs out in cave with Jesus and Elvis despite repeated attempts at reviving. Tech support man nice but useless. Internet connection remains dead.
6) Posting at work, fully aware that I’ve probably lost the five posts I’ve been working on mentally for good. Glargh. Also, suffering some sort of late-onset teenage ennui. Don’t want to post anything. Don’t want to write anything I need to write. Don’t seem to be able to write for own pleasure. Don’t want to work on thesis. Don’t want to do anything except find a nice corner to curl up in and not exist for a while. Not doing so good.

If this keeps up, I’ll be forced to dye my hair black again and dig out the Marilyn Manson t-shirts.