Today I´ve done nothing. Actually, lacking things to do, I just
came back to my bed (where I write) from having spent 15
minutes looking at my reflection in the mirror.

There is a man who lives
In the mirror that I see
I´m almost like him
He´s almost like me

It seems I´m always looking tired when I´m here. Maybe
it´s my hair. It used to go to my shoulders. Now the tresses
are in my eyes.
Cutting it made me feel naked at first, but I´m starting to
like it.
I like my hair altogether.
Yeah. Actually, I wouldn´t want to trade a headfullofhair
with anyone.
Coming to think of it, there isn´t much I would trade.
I wouldn´t trade my name... and I wouldn´t trade my eyes. I
wouldn´t trade my nose either, or my teeth.
I wouldn´t trade my cheekbones.
I wouldn´t trade my biceps. I wouldn´t trade my penis.
I would not trade my toenails, and I certainly wouldn´t trade
my mind.
I think the only thing I´d like to trade is my age. I´d like to
meet a five-year-old boy who´d like to be 19 for awhile.
Then I´d trade with him, so I could be five.
But that would be risky. If the trade was one-way only, I
would never be able to forgive myself.
Anyway, so my hair is ok, though it might make me look tired.
But maybe not... I used to be tired, as in sleepy tired from
the messed-up sleeping habits you get from working shifts,
but I´m getting used to that. I´m more sighing tired. Fed-up
tired. Ignorant tired.
This island makes me feel kind of disillusioned. Everything
appears to be a big effort. A big effort in slow motion.
Eating, reading, watching TV (especially watching TV. There
are 12 channels available here, instead of the three I have at
home.
But the more I look, the more I realize that there´s nothing
worth looking at.
From one stinking soap-opera to another, to a bloody over-
idiotic talkshow. It makes me want to puke at the world and
wipe my behind with it.
...But hey, they hold promise. Bring in some kids from mid-
Africa and ask them how they feel about eating their sandals
to avoid starvation, or about when they killed a guy over a
can of dog-food.
Or maybe the local Sarajevo-youngster, inquired about how it
feels to grow up in a warzone. You know, where darkness
doesn´t mean "Gee, I must go home or mom will ground my ass,
so I can´t go to that cool party and fuck another under-aged
virgin on the trampoline." as much as "I better go home now so
that my legs are still attached to my body tomorrow."
Or, why not let a young boy from Thailand, in a voice still
pendulating between soprano and baritone tell about the
well-dressed gentleman from Sweden (who probably watches
Ricki Lake (I´m an arch-criminal!) on his spare time in the
first place), who buys his body for the same amount of money
you pay to get a Big Mac.
About his after shave, about his greyish hairy chest pressed
against your back, about his erect throbbing penis and how it
feels to have his semen dribbling down your cheeks.
The list can be made pretty long.
But of course, that wouldn´t be entertainment. The poor
audience wouldn´t know when to applaud, to "boooh" or to
"ooooh"...
Although they probably have some guy there holding up a sign
telling them what to do...
...As the thought of 200 persons spontaneously giving standing
ovations and oooh:ing at a woman who just told her boyfriend
with the sunglasses and goldchains that he better stops
screwing those three other girls, or she would break up with
him (again), is quite scary.
It´s very scary. That´s a big scare for you.
But people do a lot for their 15 minutes of fame, don´t they.)

...Even resting seems to take a lot out of me here. Lack of
exercise? I´ve thought about that as well, but I work out ten
times as much when I´m here as when I´m at home. My entire
body ached while I was home last week, so I´m probably not
too fit.
But I´m working on it. I have yet to experience one of those
renowned endorphin-highs that will make me addicted to
physical training, so that I can dance above the snow instead
of trudging through it on my way to the gym.
No... I don´t know what´s causing it.
The disillusionment I mean.
(Thank YOU Alanis! I listen to your music every day out here.)

But I do feel a lot less of it now. I actually feel quite good.
You know, as always, this is probably the only thing that really
helps... what would I do without you, Dear Diary?

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