After all, at five in the morning I find myself awake; having finished typing out my bibliography for one of the essays, taking a tweezer to de-hair my left leg (for readers new to this journal, I do that when I am really stressed), and re-writing this entry for the umpteen time.

I do not understand why I keep posting, editing and deleting this entry. Perhaps I am not satisfied with what I am writing. Perhaps I am bored. And perhaps I realise that there are limits to my candidness.

I paraphrase from a previous edition of this entry:

"I know, I know, I am far too candid about some personal Things That Should Not Be Mentioned, but then, I am in that sort of mood. You know that sort of mood. I hope I do not need to explain what that sort of mood means because I do not know myself..."

The "thing" I referred to in Things That Should Not Be Mentioned would be the terribly descriptive passage about plucking every single hair on my left leg. I suppose a few readers might be wincing in empathy right now.

I also mentioned that I was a spoilt, whiny, brat with nary an unselfish thought in my head. Or an action for that matter. I grumble, bitch and generally make life miserable for myself and others. I am hyper-sensitive, annoyingly cute and downright irritating. Not to mention mean and sarcastic.

What a fascinating lack of virtue I have. I wonder what I am forgetting to list.

I also transcribed an internal dialogue between my different voices, but decided that I couldn't muddle through the entire confusing conversation about killing myself, to killing a poor puppy-dog, to kicking a dog, pink bunny wabbits, the difficulty in getting the bloodstains out (from killing the dog), the mess on the sheets, the pool of blood spreading artistically on the sheets (from killing myself), that huge teddy bear in the gift shop, the sheep theory in Warcraft III and the reminder to go fill my water jug with water so that I will have clear, crisp, water to drink when I wake up.

Oh and yes, it seems that I have a sadistic streak somewhere. Among other things.

Is this too candid for you? Don't worry, gentle reader, I am far too gentle and civilised to slash some poor canine's throat. And too practical and sensual to kill myself when I have family to look after and avenues left unexplored.

My voices just make crazy suggestions at this time of the morning to facilitate interesting discussions. You will be surprised at how many times a day one of them tells me to kill myself in the most inventive ways.

I ignore them for the most part. I am one of the controlled, sober, sane and dominant personalities, voices, entities, etc.

Now, was that too candid?

I never said I was sane, even in the best of times.

(Incidentally, that conclusive sentence came from one of the earlier versions of this entry.)