Swimming

When I am not at work or trying to sleep or crying into my own hands forcing the bad ideas to stop, I go swimming in the municipal swimming pool.

Swimming is the best thing in the world because you can pretend you're a happy dolphin....

....or predatory shark....

Swimming is also the best thing in the world because it makes you feel weightless. Even fat people can go swimming with limited risk to their shattered and crumbling fat people bones.

Although their arteries are still clogged up so they need to take it easy. (Some people I know are horrible to the fat, but I'm not. Their lives are already terrible from being fat, so why would I try to make it worse?)  

Anyway, I think the absolute best thing about swimming (if I had to be pinned down to just one thing) is being able to go to the toilet just whenever you want!

Be my work friend.

Every day I have to go to an office to work. This is what normal people do to earn money. I am trying very hard to be normal, even though I made an Excel table about what I think and what my colleagues Lou and Dave think and the results show that I am probably not normal:

Every day in the office I see a man who works on the same floor as me. (The second floor). His name is Peter (I think):

He never says hello to me and doesn't even make eye contact. I wonder if it is because he is sad or if he has met so many different types of people that he thinks he has nothing new to learn. Or maybe he's just shy. Whatever the reason, even when I look in his direction and wave he ignores me.

Even when I get really close and make my body take up as much space as possible to radiate presence and I am shouting (but only in my mind) he still ignores me.

He is just really good at ignoring me.

This started to upset me so I asked my psychoanalyst Raymond what to do about Peter (I think) ignoring me. My psychoanalyst Raymond said: MJ, you seem to have a real monkey on your back about Peter. Why do you think this is blah blah blah.....

It was at that point that I knew what to do:

Peter (I was correct) does not ignore me any more.

Thank you Raymond. You are the best psychoanalyst ever.

Camilla

I live with a girl called Camilla. Camilla is 27 and a trainee lawyer. She's mostly ok (for a girl) but can be pretty mental. For example, I have to hide chocolate and biscuits or she will eat them and then cry because she thinks she's fat.

She's not fat, just mental:

It doesn't matter what I say on this point though. I've lost track of the number of times she has become upset after baking cupcakes and then poured bleach on them so that she can't eat any more. So if I want cupcakes I have either to a) wait by the oven or b) rinse bleach from partially destroyed cupcakes. (b is better than a as it only leads to a tingling mouth rather than burns and hospital again).

Camilla also tries to tell me what to do in a high pitched voice that even bats would hate. I once broke her bedroom door handle so she couldn't get out. I had to put the TV on really loud that day.

Anyway, when she isn't being a total bitch, we mostly get on really well. This is why I agreed to draw her a card to send to her Nan who has managed to get to 80 years old without dying of anything.  

(I think I'd rather die than become old and disgusting, but I guess it's all about choices.)

Cam said, "thanks MJ, I'm sure my Nan will really love your card".

I agree.

Panda Birthday Card to Cousin Amal, 33.

My aunt Christiane reminded me it was my cousin Amal's birthday about eight hundred times. I think it's because my aunt worries that no one really likes Amal as much as they like me. The worry is based in reality; most people do like me more than my cousin Amal.

Nevertheless, I was the bigger man here and so created a birthday card. I like pandas a lot so this was my theme. Upon completion of the card, I realised that Birthday Panda looked a bit like a paedophile dressed as a panda, rather than an actual real panda. So I added the word "Creepy" to diffuse the situation. Then I crossed it out because I thought this gave the wrong message.

I posted the card from London to my cousin's law offices in Boston. (She's a lawyer but hates it).

She said: thanks, I love it.