Friday, 24 May 1996 8:24am
I thought I’d open this one traditionally, with a ‘Dear…’ Haven’t done anything since yesterday. The traffic of books through my Flemington abode is about all I’m up to these days. Finished the Truman Capote (I really like the name Truman) last night. Finished an Agatha Christie (The Pale Horse). Started Alice Walker’s Possessing the Secret of Joy this morning on the tram. It’s about female circumcision in Africa, it made quite a splash when it was first released in 1992. Alice Walker wrote The Colour Purple, which I’ve also read. Since my TV gave up the ghost and I’ve been whingeing non-stop about boredom and how many books I’m racing through, people at work have been loaning me books left, right and centre. It’s kinda nice, it’s like something I’d always dreamed about. A workplace full of groovy, erudite hipsters who trade snobby jokes about obscure intelligentsia trivia. No, it’s not really like that, I just enjoy taking the piss too much. It’s a weakness isn’t it? Making fun of people all the time. It’s a lot less risky to take nothing seriously.
Oh yeah, I’ve also got this nice hardback Gunter Grass novel (The Tim Drum) from Paige, that’s been nicked from my very own local library. I keep threatening to return it on her. It’s been out in the wilderness, separated from the herd since 1992. I wonder if it misses the comforting pressure of its brethren on either side of it, its special place on the shelf.
So are you prepared for Mum’s impending visit? She can’t wait to get that kid of yours in her clutches you know.
Sitting on the tram this morning. I sat opposite this attractive woman, about my age I guess. Pale with dark hair, pulled back from her face, dark power-suit and briefcase, but she didn’t seem imposing. She had this funny way of directing her face towards you without actually making eye contact. Three or four times during the journey I looked up from my book ‘coz I got that instinctive feeling that someone was watching me, but she never made eye contact. Anyway, she was looking at my book (Possessing the Secret of Joy) kind of funny, like she knew what it was about and was embarrassed by a bloke reading it.
Oh God, I’ve got to look busy now, typing, typing, typing. Nuff Nuff is standing her prattling on and I I don’t keep typing he’ll direct some of his dullness my way. Even still, as I type these very words, he is talking to me. My eyes haven’t left the screen, my tongue has not loosed itself – how can he do that? talk to someone who is so patently not interested in talking back? he’s gone. Phew. It’s a brutal world Sis. Sometimes you have to wonder how you manage to get by. Oh God, listen to me! Like my life is really hard. Poor J, with a full time job in a westernized country with somewhere to live, food on the table. Geez, it’s easy to forget innit?
same day, 12:45pm
Just had Friday Lunch. Main topic of discussion – Nuff Nuff. It was Paige and I against the do-gooders, Sis. Some of the more charitable souls in the office were talking about ‘saving’ him, teaching him some socialization skills. Personally, I’m always a bit concerned about people who are keen on ‘saving’ others. I reckon half of them are gratitude junkies. I think Nuff Nuff knows he’s rejected by us, but looks down on us for it, you know? that type of isolation can go two ways; he can see himself as above or below us, and with Nuff Nuff, I think it’s the former. I reckon he things what we’re losers and don’t understand him. We call him Nuff Nuff because whenever he’s near you, all you want to shout is ‘Enough! Enough!’
Anyway enough of that.