Tuesday April 22, 2003:
I just had a fight with Lauren. She invited me round for drinks, but I said I was too tired and that I just wanted to go to bed. She complained that we haven’t spent enough time together, and I snapped at her.
I feel like such a jerk. She’s only trying to make me feel better, and all I ever do is mouth off. These shifts test my patience so much that I don’t know how to stay upbeat anymore.
I should call her back and apologise. But maybe this is for the best. I mean, seriously, what’s a graduate like her doing with a useless bum like me? I’m nothing special, and she’s kidding herself if she thinks otherwise.
Gordon’s been trying to get me to hang out with him too; asking me to come for a drink or do the Hazard Course with him one more time. But I’m bored of it all. Bored of everything. Bored of myself.
I’m not like Gordon; I’m not making a difference here. I don’t know any secrets. If there’s ever anything going on, I’m not in on it. That’s how it’s always been for me. I stand next to high-flyers and pretend I’m tall. Pathetic really.
To be honest, I’m thinking of quitting. I can’t face another week of crushing garbage. Maybe I’ll go back to college, or move back to Iowa. I don’t know, honestly.
Apart from Lauren and Gordon, there’s nothing keeping me here. Think I’ll just hand in my notice and release Chumtoad into the wild. That way at least I know I’ll have done one tiny bit of good.