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2002-04-29 - 8:16 p.m.

It seems that I am in an abusive work relationship. I keep telling myself to leave, get out, I can do better but then it always comes crawling back, begging me to stay, that Iíll travel. Advance. Get my degree. Then, when I relent, the screaming and hitting starts all over again. I need to do something to get my dignity back, but Iím kind of at a loss, other than steal toilet paper. Wiping my ass on the company dime doesnít really seem all that subversive however. I have no confidence. None. Zippo. Well, maybe when Iíve done some poppers or something. I actually may be developing bad habits. This past weekend I wanted to get a Tattoo. I was thinking that a sleeve would be nice, on my right arm. Some tribal design, like the Maoriís paint on their faces, or the Somoanís on their backs, anything that had a heritage or history linked to it. Or maybe some stylized black widow on my calf, grasping my leg. Something angry and tribal was what I was after, something to scare away my enemies. Itís all kind of my horoscopeís fault, mainly because like the rest of America I need a scapegoat to be happy. It said to break out of my old shell. So, Iíve done my best to leave to the relatively shy and fearful Chauffi behind, and embrace the new fearless Chauffi. Only it really hasnít worked out that way. Sure, Iíve given up television and techno gadgets (except the cell which is essential to the jet setting lifestyle). Iíve also stopped working on the laptop in Coffee shops and on public transportation. Iíve bought club clothes and now work out more than I have in my entire life (which is actually the only benefit so far that I can tell). But really, nothing is all that different. The stars didnít suddenly align into some obscure once in a millennia pattern giving me supernatural powers or awakening some psychic bond with the universe. In fact, all the partying is a little lonelier than when I was content to catch an independent film or festival and a pint of Guinness by myself. I wasnít trying to be anything then, just me. I thought that changing my patterns would change me. And it hasnít. Itís very depressing really. GD Astrology, getting my hopes up. It is kind of addictive though, the rush of being out and on the move. To be surrounded by the beautiful people even if you feel like a poser trying to fit in. Iíll find my something I guess. Iím a little too old for the party scene. And tribal patterns on my arm or anywhere else. And I should switch from rave drugs to pot, as that's more my Grandpa style. Now I best get my bitch ass back to the kitchen and bake my co-workers a pie.

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