Yes, I am in a foul mood. Absolutely foul. A couple of things. More than a couple of things. Hamlet is refusing to answer all my correspondence (what little there is of it), or ignoring them, or just deleting anything that comes from my email address. Whatever. And one can�t help feel resentment when he pops a note down to Strawberry even if it is just to ask for stupid telephone numbers of various government agencies in Australia.

Yes, I am repressing all my hurt and anger and jealousy. (I think I read too much Freud for my course this year.) Whatever. I do suspect he was reading my diary and wasn�t too happy after reading about himself and his situation. And that suspicion sparked off the need for a disclaimer page.

I ain�t stupid you know. There�s something called a site counter, and I will upgrade that when I am decide to get a Diaryland account. That needs a credit card, and I will probably need either Jingle or BF to help pay for it. I am still deciding whether I should be that paranoid. Bleah.

Hamlet didn�t even bid me farewell when I left in the summer, like he usually did. Blah. I wrote an entry about that here although I can�t for the life of me, remember what sparked it. Probably something like ignoring my emails. I don�t remember.

Although I suppose if one contrives to secretly peruse someone�s diary and expects to read everything about themselves as all nice and fluffy and sweet and innocent, one is seriously in need of a mental adjustment. It is a diary, for goodness sake, if I am furious with you, I bugger off and scream at you on paper, or in the less forgiving case of the Internet. Let off some steam and then maybe come back and yell at you later if I decided that bitching about it on paper isn�t enough. And under a pseudonym because you are still a friend, and also because I do not want some irate companion of yours to come after me with a carving knife for something I said months ago in the privacy of my own head.

And the final word? Said person has always professed no interest whatsoever in reading it.

And yes, I am over-sensitive, but I think people just should not gel together all the time. Strawberry is highly irritating because her definition of "friends" and mine do not match. Her sense of "friendship" means someone to help her occupy her so that she "wouldn�t feel so bored". There is nothing about individual space with her. In crude terms, it is like an orgy with her, with as many people as possible and fun, fun, fun.

And it is quite self-centered of her to do so. Companionship is all and nice, but too much is nauseating. And what is worse is that I feel that she is only seeking my companionship when her BF is not around or her other more "happening" or "cooler" friends. And I hate being made to feel that I am being part of her toy box. When mommy has to wash your favourite rag dolly, you have no choice but to pull out another doll from your box. Blah. Strawberry might not have the conscious desire to make me feel like that, but if it is a sub-conscious thing, let's just say that I am cynical enough to know that no leopard can change their bloody spots.

I like my friends to be independent people who meet up to share a coffee or tea and gossip, be there when we need each other, etc. An intimate setting with just a small group of people. Maybe a maximum of three or four. And preferably, no ringing mobile phones to make it more than four! For example, three people and one lone person chatting on her phone because the conversation on the phone is much more interesting. Then why the hell do you want to come out with us?

See, conflict in personalities. Not our individual faults. Not hers, not mine. It is just that I always sound like a spoilt brat in my head and then I feel guilty. But I know if I give in to the guilt I will feel all drained out in a month, just keeping up with her. Nah. I have decided that if you don�t like me this way, you can go bugger yourself.

It seems that the phrase "Go bugger yourself" and its various siblings have been frequently making an appearance in my entries. I don�t know. Maybe it�s just my way of saying, "Go away, and leave me alone. I�m happy to be in a social setting with you, just not your bosom buddy because I am simply not cut out for that sort of role."

And to sum up the whole entry, I hope Hell is NOT relative. Because if I am really stuck in the version of Hell I have just described, I will never reach Purgatory or Heaven at this rate.