Wednesday, 10 January 1996 1:30pm
Well Mum finally showed up yesterday and we had a nice lunch, in “The Great Space Cafe” (I paid). We’re both dieting so it was a measly round of sandwiches and a cappuccino each.
The reading mood is upon me again. Finally finished off that Hardy novel “Far from the Madding Crowd”, flicked through this Dostoyevsky short story/novelette, ditto a Patrick Susskind one called “The Pigeon”. Today I’m gonna go buy another one from that bookstore at the top of Bourke Street I showed you the “Hill of Content Bookshop“. I dig that name. I might go for a Camus, I’ve read one or two of his other ones, I’m sure you have too, they’re staple high school English stuff – “The Plague”, “The Outsider”. Or another Sartre, I really liked that other one of his I read “The Age of Reason”, or I’ve heard that some French git call André Gide is quite good. It’s good to write this down while I can remember what it is I want, my mind always goes blank whenever I get into a bookstore or a record shop.
same day, 2:32pm
Decided on the Sartre. I bought two, “Nausea” and “The Reprieve”. The Reprieve is the second of the “Roads to Freedom” trilogy. The third one was there too, and I actually meant to buy that instead of “Nausea”, but I mixed ’em up. I intended to buy “Nausea” but I wanted to knock off the trilogy first. Never mind. Can’t wait to get into them, I’ve got such an appetite for reading now, it’s weird. A week ago I could barely finish that 90 page Dostoyevsky thing. Maybe it’s got something to do with being back to work. Ah, I’m such a snob when it comes to books, Sis. When those people came to my house from the office Christmas party, one of the girls Nadia, was looking through my bookshelves laughing and saying “You’ve got juuust a little bit of everything, haven’t you J? It’s all planned out, isn’t it? Can’t be denied. It makes me think of a line from “A Fish called Wanda” where Jamie Lee Curtis calls Kevin Kline an ape, to which he retorts “But apes don’t read Nietzsche do they?” She turns around to face him and in a compassionate tone says “Yes they do, they just don’t understand it.”
Thursday, 11 January 1996 1:50pm
Hungover. Went over to Josh’s last night in North Melbourne, had a few brews, so to speak, and jabber-jawed ’til 4:30am. Woke up feeling sleazy, worried about the time (they don’t have any clocks in the house, none that I could find anyway. I lay in bed for a bit, squinting through the lead-limbedness of it all, head pounding. Slithered out of bed and into the shower (they have two showers in their flat, right next to each other, it’s rather odd). I felt so bad I actually had a cold shower. I’ve never done that before in my life, I couldn’t believe it, I felt like I was in a marines film. I got dressed, sat on the edge of the bed waiting for someone else to get up because I felt a bit funny about just disappearing. Eventually I saw Josh stir and I pounced, poking my head through his door and croaking out a garbled farewell (I think I was still a bit pissed). I limped out into the daylight and pointed my weary carcass toward the city. I walked the whole way to work, it helped a little. Got to Collins Place and warily eyed my coffee, wondering if it would help or hinder my recovery. I trusted in the power of the roasted bean and gingerly slurped it down. Didn’t make much of a difference really. Then I wobbled over to “Roozervelts Cafe” and got two potato cakes and a large bottle of Coke, the hangover survival kit. This is when I started to feel better.
God, I missed an X-Files episode lat night, how terrible.