I think my post of last night could best be summarised with the phrase: I need to read more. You know how the stomach will eventually begin digesting the body's own organs if it isn't fed? My brain works in a similar way. When I neglect to give my mind new and difficult things to process, it soon turns upon itself, tearing into every facet that I can perceive of my personality. Its critical faculties must munch on something, even if the only thing on the menu is itself. It is not long before it effectively starts eating its own excrement: that is, it begins criticising the very fact of my being self-critical. So. Some Jelinek reading is in order. Mmm, Jelinek.

Stupid super-ego. Silly aggressive death-instincts, freed by the dissolution of my Oedipus complex. If I had one at all, that is. You know the drill - women never developing a conscience because they were never threatened with the removal of their phallus. Ho-hum.

(I challenge The Age's his-and-hers blogs to cover that!)