Poor Little Rich Girl

Thu, 20 Apr 2006 03:24:17 GMT

Apologies for my absence in the earlier part of this week. I had no idea a sugar high could last three days. It's the mini eggs, they're so small that it's impossible to know how many you've had.

Nii-sama, thank you for your patience, although I am not quite certain it was necessary to stage an intervention. I was not a danger to myself and others, I was merely perky.

I notice the building is still operating on only one elevator. Clearly I was lucky to escape with my life.

Anyway, I'm back now and doing my best to catch up with the paperwork that the PR department has been helpfully leaving on my desk despite my lack of presence at it. Some of these deadlines were yesterday and my printer is flashing at me in the manner which usually means there is a problem.

Renji, I need my stapler back. You can bring it when you bring me the easter gift you said you left at home on Friday and really meant you wanted to wait until the sales to buy. The staff at home have stopped frisking me for candy every hour, now.

Sun, 09 Apr 2006 18:35:10 GMT

I filled in my psych evaluation form yesterday. May I enquire as to whether the compiler of the questionnaire passed their last evaluation with flying colours? The questions were ridiculous.

The combination of have you bought a weapon and do you dream about killing your co-workers? seems almost as inane as the checksheet they give you on flights. Are you a terrorist - Yes/No? Perhaps the idea is that anybody idiot enough to tick yes on their plane-sheets must be crazy, and the people carrying weapons to work form a potential terrorist threat. Now that might be a little bit smart.

Furthermore, I am suspicious of the impertinent questions regarding feelings. Who is not, on occasion, lonely, lethargic, frustrated, nervous or tired? The question may as well have been are you human? I am wondering if the revelatory intent lies with the 'no' answers. Are we attempting to weed out the psychopaths in our depths? It all seems rather extreme for an office job. Furthermore, we sell real estate for the dead. I am certain that if one of us was gunned down tomorrow by a disgruntled colleague they would at least be well provided for.

Ah well, it is not as though it will be the first wasted hour I have spent staring at ink blots until they form shapes, and apparently we get free candy. Is everybody aware of the impending arrival of Easter? I would suggest this is another excellent opportunity for copious amounts of sugar and rabbit themed paraphernalia. It falls on a Sunday, of course, so perhaps a full week of festive activities would not be uncalled for.

Nii-sama, I have taken the liberty of dressing those Chappy plushies I removed from your office last month in spring pastel colours and arranging them around the house along with baskets of brightly coloured eggs. I feel they add character to the otherwise drab decor. I hope this is acceptable.

Private:

Why don't I come up with ways of making what I do better? I have a brain, god knows I can't remember the last time I used it. I simply don't know what constitutes as 'better' anymore.

This morning I looked up my old course on the college website, to see how they advertise it to potential students.

History of Art: These programmes provide an excellent basis for many varied careers, as well as enhancing your knowledge of art. They equip you well for work in galleries, teaching, arts administration and conservation.

What was I thinking? Obviously with the grades I achieved in high school there were not many courses clamouring to have me enrol, this was perhaps the best I could get, and Hisana so wanted for me to achieve my potential. But really, those are my options? I can dry up in a dusty gallery and spend my days glaring at schoolchildren with sticky fingers, I can teach those children, I could do administration (more data-entry) or conservation. Preserving the past is all very well, but I would rather create. Leave my own marks. Tear things and stain them, if I want to.

Why did I waste so many years in education? Anything lucrative nowadays is learnt on the job. Take computers, the wretched things change their expectations almost daily. Upgrades, new operating systems and interfaces. There is no sense sitting in a classroom to learn about them, by the time the bell rings at the end they will already have moved on.

Something like that. Progress. I can't just stay here.

And then there is the modelling. I'm supposed to see Rangiku about that today - she has taken it upon herself to help me, and I should be grateful. But I'm starting to worry that she thinks I really care. It's a means to an end - glorified prostitution, and I've been doing it gladly. It does, after all, pay well. If people are willing to spend money to look at my body (ridiculous, since all of us have one and access to a mirror) I cannot see the harm in letting them. But that is all it's for. Money, the chance to stand on my own two feet and know I've paid for the ground I'm walking on. None of this is for love.

I don't even know what I love anymore. I was so caught up in the 'anywhere but here' that I forgot where I wanted to go, didn't I? Mindless work. I'm as bad as them.

Sat, 08 Apr 2006 03:44:39 GMT

...wonderful.

Private to Kurosaki Ichigo

What is wrong with you?

No, really, is there anyone else you would like to humiliate me in front of? Are we working our way down a list? Perhaps you would like me to provide you with embarrassing baby photographs, or a folio of my abysmal old school reports. If only we had a flagpole on the building for you to run a pair of my panties up. Honestly, what would you like, tell me now and we can get it over with.

Maybe you could just tell me why you think I'm desperate enough to require your computer-dating services.

Thu, 06 Apr 2006 03:53:36 GMT

The squelching noises coming from the corner cubicle are mine. Please do not investigate, it is only that the sudden rainshower at lunch caught me somewhat by surprise.

My clothes are hanging from an electrical cable draped across the top of my cubicle (I don't think I unplugged anything important) in the vague and distant hope they may be wearable by the time I leave.

At least there is no need to worry too much about looking presentable for the casting I had scheduled tonight, my cellphone refuses to let me access the address details I had saved. At least the humming noise it is making instead is rather soothing.

So much for April Showers. I think perhaps I'd better start building an Arc.

Thu, 09 Feb 2006 20:00:52 GMT

Please ignore any uncalled for noise / sailor-like cursing / whimpers of pain coming from my cubicle.

Tried to fix a printer jam. Think I may have lost a finger. Does blood come off paperwork?

Valentines day. An excuse for greetings cards companies to make a fortune from lonely people. Really, the only happy valentines are sent between established couples; delivering an unsigned card to someone who has never looked twice at you surely only reaffirms your own anonymity.

We might as well celebrate the festival of Lupercalia and all put our names into an urn to be drawn out and paired off. At least nobody would be left out, and really I would rather be spared the ordeal of showing up to a party alone and having to locate the most comfortable corner in which to stand and be looked at. Or not, as the case may be. Two hundred dollars seems an extortionate price for being a wallflower.

Arbitary pairings may appear extreme, but cannot be considered less rational than the way people seem to lurch desperately at each other at these things (heat seeking missiles with a need for affirmation of their own self worth through liquored molestation) with little consideration of the who or the why.

There is, of course, the charity aspect, and the coercion aspect, which means I have little choice other than to attend, watch people get stupidly drunk and do unspeakable things to the photocopier, then pass out in compromising positions. Maybe I should get drunk and throw myself into the arms of the first person to offer a complimentary word. It isn't as though I don't have a reputation for making a fool of myself at parties. Half the company does, it seems. Is the notion of learning from one's mistakes so outdated?

I should be far too young to be so cynical, shouldn't I? It is plausible that the party will be better than I expect. I don't object to dancing and, given the festive aspect to proceedings, it is likely there will be chocolate and an attractive balloon display. I don't mind romance, really, only when I feel like it's being forced upon me.

And all right, I'm not expecting any valentines, but who really wants to be loved by anonymous?

Sun, 05 Feb 2006 17:57:57 GMT

Note to self: falling asleep in front of the Cartoon Channel is not a good idea. For some reason it switches to the Horror Channel after midnight; I was woken up at three am by the screaming of massacred nuns, and only discovered that my body had set itself firmly into the shape of the couch after I tried to stand up and landed flat on my face.

Matsumoto-san? If you wanted to come by at some point, the earlier part of the week is better for me.

Private:

Attempted (again) to get in touch with one of the first photographers I worked for, re: buying the negatives. It seems every time I call he has some excuse for being away.

This time his secretary told me he doesn't work Sundays for religious reasons. The gentleman is a Christian. Since I suppose 'Thou shalt not photograph thy neighbour in her panties' isn't one of the ten commandments, I'll let it go. I still can't help feeling like I'm being avoided.

Sundays must be a busy day for him. This is the man who told me to suck my thumb, as it made me look like a little girl. I'm sure he has much to confess.

Thu, 02 Feb 2006 22:32:18 GMT

What!?

Who schedules a virus? I understand that there are people in this world who find it amusing to mess up everyone else's hard work (as if computers can't do a perfectly good job of that unaided) by sending bugs or worms or other varieties of small creepy crawly things into the system. What I didn't realise was that they had a timetable.

Who are these individuals? What do their dayplanners look like?

Monday: Attend tabletop RPG. Bring Nachos + Cape.
Tuesday: Visit internet chat room. Pretend I have breasts.
Wednesday: Send out pathetic little virus that means Rukia will have to retype seven pages of copy.
Thursday: Star Trek marathon.

Well I'm giving up. I don't know how I'm supposed to make backups, or what they back up on to since surely another machine would only have the same problem. Maybe if I just don't turn my computer on tomorrow, everything will be fine.

I'm sick of arguing with that wretched paperclip, anyway