I like my pretend job, turning up half-drunk and gossiping all day.

From:   'J'
Date:    08 March 2002 02:55AM
To:     'S'
Subject: Beer and Champagne.  Goddammit.

Hey Sis. Long time no type. Now type only pidgin. What are you up to?    How’s work? The kiddies? Barry? Current events? Myself, I haven’t been up to much. God, what a hangover I have. It’s terrible. Beer and champagne, they just don’t mix. Oh God I feel like shit. I just scratched my head and black stuff came off. I’m falling apart, feel like the narrator in “Midnight’s Children”. Feel like sitting in a meadow and reading Emily Dickinson. Does Australia even have meadows? I could probably find a tip somewhere…

Been listening to Rufus Wainwright’s CD “Poses” with maniacal obsessiveness and now know every single note by heart. Been reading about the Middle East. Also been looking for jobs. Applied for a Project Editor job in South Melbourne last week. Got a confirmation letter but that’s all so far. Just can’t live on this CPD money any more. I have a new friend in advertising, and he earns more than twice my wage and it’s starting to make me feel a bit weird. It’s never really bothered me before, but it does now. Problem is, I don’t want a real job. I like my pretend job, turning up half-drunk and gossiping all day. Jesus Christ, how can I feel this poorly after drinking, an activity sanctified in the Holy Bible?  Even my fucking eyes hurt.

I’m going to go carry a piece of paper around the office for a bit. Maybe I’ll have something of interest to report after the long weekend.

See ya.

J

 

 

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