So Belle de Jour has outed herself.

What a brave woman.

Am still in love, still with the same man, my love is boring but I love it.

I can tell you that there is not one minute of any day that I miss my job. Never.

I live in a house by the sea and I come home every afternoon like clockwork at the close of business hours. I catch a train with other business people and I am so normal.

Gosh, it's so lovely!!

I am reading back on it all. What a life. Who was that girl? So bullheaded and out of control. I think that if I met her now, I wouldn't know what to say! I wouldn't even recogise her!!

I look at the photos from that time, the crazed look I had in my eyes, the outlandish clothing. I thought I knew all that there was to be sexy, how wrong I was!! Sexy isn't a tight crotch skimming skirt teamed with a cleavage enhancing top... it's a look in your eye, a quiver of the lip, the toss of the hair, the gentle caress of your own body as you appreciate it for what it is.

I have rid my wardrobe of those clothes. Have rid my life of the hangers on who polluted my life with false esteem.

I am on the train now, crowded in beside other humans rushing home to be with loved ones, to cook dinner and discuss their day. I am one of them and for the first time I feel truly happy. Not filled with false bravado, challenging all and sundry to tell me that I am not happy, that I am searching for something which I don't feel I deserve. I am happy. A clean happy. A different happy.

Goodbye LJ. What a short time together it was.

According to LJ it has been 17 weeks since my last post.

I am now working as a Solicitor.

Not much has been happening.

Am in love, am happy.

Who would have thought it?

Sometimes I feel like misery loves me. Perhaps almost as much as I love misery.

Things are going well for me (again) and yet I seem to actively seek misery.

The simple act of a man I like not calling me all day, even if he has perfect reasons is enough to send me into an anxiety spiral.

Eating an entire box of Pods helps me work myself into a panic.

All I want is to be loved... and this seems to be such a hard thing.

I saw a client the other night who paid me a rather handsome sum to vomit on his cock whilst giving head. The simple act of sucking this bloated fool was causing me to gag anyhow and forcing myself to vomit wasn't exactly difficult.

Once upon a time, at the end of our time together I would have sat and asked this client why he was turned on by this... now, I sit with my back to the shower and stare absently out the window, silently spending the money earned. I tried to ask, to be inquisitive, but the interest wasn't there.

Yet, my mask is still there. Bubbly she smiles and flirts a little to get the booking and then can't look at her reflection as she leads the client to the room. Up the stairs, along the hallway and into the room. The room with it's bare necessities.

I think I need to get out now.

So he hasn't called...

I asked him to call me Sunday... but I am hoping with the amount of background noise he might have misheard me and thought I said "Monday"...

Yesterday was shit.

I lay in bed for much of the day dreaming of food, watching Season 4 of Scrubs and waiting for him to call.

I don't know now whether i want him to call because I think I might actually like him, or whether I want him to call because he hasn't and the idea that someone doesn't want me is driving me insane.

Regret: That I didn't get his phone number too.

A huge thank you to all those who commented! I am a little taken aback!

Tonight, I will begin adding people as Friends... even try to create a snazzy Friends Only banner thing - if anyone has any ideas, let me know!!

I stayed in last night and watched 'Shall We Dance'... it was a lovely film and at times I felt a bit emotional, as a result of the music? Certainly not the acting. The acting wasn't terrible, but it wasn't great either.

I found the Richard Gere scene with the tux and the rose a little too Pretty Woman, and spoiled an otherwise pretty good film.

I have also developed an odd taste for a show on the ABC at 9.30 called Spooks. A tad predictable, but something about it appeals to me. So that was fun to watch.

When these were over, I watched the first Lord of the Rings. I am a complete and utter nerd and have to admit that I am a huge Tolkein fan - even before Peter Jackson filmed them. I also confess that I own a Lord of the Rings Ring and went to the exhibition at the Powerhouse Museum.

Tonight I am going to watch the second one.

Due to some asshole somehow getting into my email account and changing my password and doing God only knows what with my email, I am not able to access it. I have a new, private email address. Sadly, I am not able to remember your emails and will not be able to contact you again. That is probably for the best anyhow.

From now on, this journal will be Friends Only due to constant abuse. You know who you are, I hope you are happy.

1. made or done by someone whose name is not known or not made public

2. when someone's name is not given or known

I like to remain as anonymous as possible.

As a result, sometimes I might write about my Tuesday bookings on a Friday. Or I might write what I did on Sunday, the Wednesday. I might say that I went to Melbourne for a pole competition on a particular date, when I actually went to Perth on a different date. Or that I shagged a guy with a massive cock on a Monday, when I really saw him two weeks earlier. Particularly if they are quite odd.

This is also why I don't let on where I work, or my real name or working name.

I don't understand the obsession with needing to know who someone is.

With clients, they will sit there and argue with you until your time is up, begging you to tell them your real name. I have had clients sulk for an entire overnight booking because I won't tell them my real name. When you book a prostitute, you book a prostitute. This isn't a relationship. This is a one night, one hour, one whatever, stand. You book a fantasy, something for the memories.

I also hate people who email me or msn me, and they tell me they know who I am. This scares me and makes me uncomfortable.

People who follow me around the internet and who try to collerate all my comments.

"Why would you say you won the pole competition, when you said before that you won it?"

My friend did win that particular pole competition on that particular night. I won a pole competition a little while back, in a different state at a different time.

If I were to say, I won this pole competition, on this date! oh yay for me! All it would take is a quick google and before you know it my anonymity is lost! I suddenly have a face, and a body and would be contactable. I don't want any of these things.

I am a whore, who does the occasional pole dancing, who writes in this journal. The journal may not be exactly time accurate, but the stories are true and are my own. I like to be able to write my thoughts and concerns, without the stress of people I know reading it.

I am tired, I have had a very trying past couple of days with events that are not going to be discussed in my journal. Yesterday, a bad thing happened and it was the culmination of a string of happenings. Although it feels like the weight has been lifted off my shoulders, I do not feel better for it. My body feels tired and aching.

My ex was meant to come over last night to discuss where we are going and what we are doing. He got held up in the office and couldn’t make it til very late. By the time he arrived I was already curled up in bed. I buzzed him in and went straight back to sleep. When I awoke in the morning, he was gone. There was a note telling me not to watch TV and to call the YL’s immediately.

As I don’t follow instructions well, especially intriguing ones like that! I turned the TV on and was able to witness the media circus surrounding poor John Brogden. I watched in horror as they reported that he had stabbed himself – then had this downgraded to just attempted to slit his wrists. I watched Karl Stefanovic and his smarmy manners talk to Mr Debnam about the leadership and was impressed by the Liberal Parties wish to hold off formally announcing the leadership. I watched Kochie and Mel and their faux sympathy. I walked down to my office and bought a Daily Telegraph. Appalled. Disgusted. I understand the media likes to sensationalise, however sometimes it makes me feel so dirty to read it.

Last night, I went and got a spray tan from a place I had never been – I will not be back as they did a terrible job. Then I had a few wines with a girlfriend. We were planning our trip up for Indy. I am really looking forward to going! I plan to lie on the beach and sunbake all day, and then work all night.

We decided to stay an extra two nights afterwards and booked a room at the Palazzo Versace. I just cannot wait!!! The Versace is possibly my favourite hotel!!!

"Helena and I just want to send a message to John Brogden that he should look to his future," Mr Carr said on ABC radio.

"As far as we're concerned this incident is behind us, it should be behind him.

"The world accepts that all of us make mistakes and he's got a big future as a politician, a member of this community and as a father of his son Flinders.

"We wish him well and we want to encourage him to move beyond this thing."

Thanks assholes. Those comments would have been nice following his apology.

What was it that Helena said.... did he apologise because he had to, or...???

Did you Mr Carr feel that you needed to comment because you had to, or because you wanted to?

As I said this morning, JBro is only 36. He still has the chance to resurrect a career from this. We still admire Bill Clinton as one of the greatest leaders - and his indiscretions were internationally recognised and a heck of a lot worse than poor JBros.

My thoughts are with you Mr Brogden, with you and your family. I await your return.

To the Daily Telegraph and these women who have only know come forward to say that JBro was inappropriate with them. I spit on you. It is all very well to claim that he grabbed your ass 12 months ago, with no proof to support it. Disgusting.