Like, yeah, I'm fine. Honestly, like, I'm kind of at this crossroads right now in my life where things could get really good or really bad. Well, not, like, bad, but just, like, stagnant. And I obviously hope for the former, but, you know, statistically, we can't all be winners, right? Like, that's what my dad says.

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 And basically the only thing that's been making me happy is just, like, drawing all these guys getting really, like, really humiliatingly degraded, like having their faces covered with *** and, you know, wearing gags and stuff. I guess it's me asserting, like, a sense of power, but it's also kind of making it public, which, in a way, it's not a false sense of power necessarily. I mean, yeah, I'm using pseudonyms, but, you know, play a game of guess who.

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 I've come to some sort of realisation that most of my preferences and choices - you know, I was reading about psychogeography, so it ties in a bit to this. They're, like, basically informed by how closely pursuing them will place me in proximity to thinness. So I don't actually know what food I like or what I like to drink. I don't know what route I like to walk, and I often deny myself new and curious things when it comes to anything that I think may modify my weight.

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 In fact, as someone who considers myself quite well-adjusted, I do not know anyone who is so maniacally obsessed with their own appearance. It's honestly quite shocking, and it makes me very embarrassed, so I don't like to talk about it.

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 Today, J and I went shopping on Rathdowne Street because about once a week we have what we call a play date where we try on her clothes and I tidy the house a bit, she makes me a chai, and I mess around in her bedroom. Sometimes we have a bit of parallel play on the computer, but we usually just listen to music on PBS on her laptop. Before I leave, I have a little snack like pickles and cheese on bread, or we buy a pastry or something like that for a late brunch. I start work at 4.30 and she starts work at 5.

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 I bring my stuff before I have to go to uni, and then we usually do a huge walk to the op shops and get a coffee at Trendy Cafe*, the orange iced cold brew to be specific, which we are rather devoted to.

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 While J waited for her vegan bánh mì, I went in and asked the woman if I could use their charger, but she said they didn’t have one. So instead, I watched her make J's order.

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 Then she asked, “Is the girl out there your friend?”

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 I said, “Yeah, I’ll give it to her.” And I did.

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 I felt relieved. My phone was dead, and I didn’t have to touch it all day, and no one could access me.

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 I like my mind to get around.

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 We both agree how unusual it is that nowadays a lot of contemporary conversation, even in real life, is centred around one's own mental struggles, diagnoses, illnesses, or medication when, again, we both concede that it's incredibly unstimulating and ultimately unrelatable.

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 In fact, if I don't feel inclined to speak to someone at that moment, I just won't. I can posture and feign interest, but my mind is pretty much dissociated, which, while outwardly it has not caused me any problems, I think in the long run it will cause me to be ignorant and perhaps callous. Probs already am.

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 So I must force myself to be bored more often and to engage with those that perhaps I don't dislike, but just don't, say, particularly care about. It is good to learn new things, and you can learn new things through people.

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 There's a Kim Cattrall quote that I always say. Well, I don't always say it. I've just been saying it lately, and I never get it right, but it's more or less like, “I don't ever want to be doing something I don't like doing, not even for an hour”. And, you know, I really resonate with that.

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 After googling, her words verbatim: “I don't want to be in a situation for even an hour where I'm not enjoying myself”. And, you know, I really resonate with that too.

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 I feel very much at a juncture between leaving my job for a nine-to-five and being in the means of money, or just being broke and perhaps a bit happier. But I do think in a way money can, to a degree, buy happiness as long as you're not a psychopathic billionaire, and it would be nice to be able to pay my rent and other things during that month.

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 However, what comes with that is not experiencing pleasantries 24/7, and I just don't subscribe to the idea that you have to suffer under capitalism. This is likely my youthful ignorance, and I will get over it soon. I believe this is what parents may call ‘just a phase’.

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 I've been reading about Situationism and subvertisement in advertising, and found it comforting to know that not everyone has given up in fighting for a cause. I am writing this on a MacBook that was probably made from slave labour. I am probably quite stupid and part of the problem. But maybe my acknowledgement of the problem makes it less of one?

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 Well, J ate her bánh mì, and luckily this time they remembered to put in chilli. I told her about how I read Andrea Dworkin's Wikipedia page, and how someone who has such good and ripe and so many much-needed ideas, particularly about women and feminism, can also not be exactly a saviour or an answer.

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 I guess no one's really perfect. I think she's also dead. She wrote quite an interesting piece for the New Statesman titled ‘They took my body from me and used it’, where she wrote that, at age 52, she was raped in a hotel room.

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 I can't be bothered explaining the article, but more or less she suspects she was given GHB or similar in her kir royale by the bartender or the boy who brings in room service.

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 I told Jazzy there was some backlash from female journalists who wrote counter-arguments to this, such as Catherine Bennett for The Guardian, titled ‘Doubts about Dworkin’, saying that a lot of her claims are more or less ludicrous, flimsy, etc. But then Gloria Steinem was like, “she never hated men, btw”. RIP.

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 And in a way I agree with their counter, but also, who am I to claim she did the wrong things (not calling the police and hospital) after the fact? You know?

 Really, you need to read the article and its subsequent written oppositions/concessions and decide yourself.

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 I really can't pass judgment on it, but I did enjoy reading both sides because nowadays no one challenges anything. After all, we are all ‘smoothed-brained’.

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 Read about the Isdal Woman too, and we spoke about that. Definitely look it up; it is a comfort article of mine, and her composite sketch is seared into my memory. She looks a bit like Jamie Lee Curtis in Freaky Friday.

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 We spoke about an essay called Men Explain Things to Me, and how the term ‘mansplaining’ was coined, and we agreed that a man explaining things to you isn't always the worst (often, but not always). It's just when they explain something you already know. That's what makes it the worst.

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 The article is by Rebecca Solnit, and it was first published in 2014.

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 When we got back to Canning St, I tried to find the PDF copy of Shitty Media Men, which was a document started by Moira Donegan where you could pretty much contribute to an Excel spreadsheet of shitty men in the media who have done something to you.

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 That puts it very simply, but more or less it's a table that says: last name, first name, affiliation, and alleged misconduct. For example, Matt Sullivan from the Bleacher Report is accused of sexual assault, and other such anon things.

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 The table has been scrubbed with caustic digital acid from the internet, but you can find traces of it online, on sites like Imgur and stuff like that, random websites no one goes on.

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 She got shunned pretty badly, but has never formally addressed it, and the website got taken down after 12 hours; then she left BuzzFeed.

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 I would thoroughly like to recreate this for people in Melbourne, and really nothing is stopping me except for, I don't know, like, a defamation case? Lol.

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 I guess it was like a very intellectual feminist dissident day, which usually is exhausting, but I find maybe it's only exhausting when you're talking to someone who can't relate to conversations with current examples and always tries to fight with me on what I’m saying.

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 I have an idea for the next drawing I want to do, and it's Bonnie Blue with her legs, like, spread apart and naked, but with a man's face, a man from just around.

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 Like it'll be Bonnie Blue, but with a flaccid dick and a man's face on it, but her body. I guess it could be Bonnie Blue just with a dick; that would just be more interesting to look at. I don't really have any reason to be doing all that, though, not really on my theme of late. And what is more humiliating than a limp penis?

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*Not sure what that really means, anyway.