Starting to feel a little rejected now. I interviewed for my job — the job I have been performing capably for 12 months — seven days ago, and nobody has said boo to me about it all bloody week. In fact, I think I’m getting the ‘Avoidance Face’ from my manager.

In the words of Cake, I am experiencing “bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse”. Did I say something bad during the interview?

During a moment that I have since erased from my memory, it’s possible that I blurted out “Yeah, I love my job, you know, except for when I have to actually work. Aha! Hah! Ha ha ha (forced laughter trailing off…)” or perhaps “In five years? I see myself dancing on your grave, jackass!” or the classic “Who’s sexy now, whore?” while gesturing at my manager with my still smoking firearm. The trouble is, I just don’t remember. Whole thing’s a blank.

Still, why worry? Unemployment could be fun. Why, even now I’m experimenting with my debt-tolerance. In fact, I’d label myself poverty-curious. This has resulted in a lot of home cooking and rentals from Queen Video. Yesterday it was all-you-can-handle David Lynch night. Twin Peaks followed by Blue Velvet. It kind of made me yearn for the hushed, cadaverless normality of my cubicle, but then I looked at the clock and realized it was 2am. So today I decided not to go into work. That oughta show ’em! Hire me OR ELSE.

Instead, I choose to use today to rush for tickets at the Film Festival. And maybe get some Mexican food with Ed. And definitely wash all my bedsheets. And help Alastair unpack into his new apartment.

This is MUCH better than earning money. Besides, my audition to read at the CNIB last night went really well, so at the very least I could become a full-time volunteer. Think of the spiritual remuneration.

CHATTY DIARIST WILL WRITE FOR FOOD