To the brain. Look lively.

I am going to try and make myself not have a headache and look lively in the next half hour so that I can go to Mike and Jane's bbq.

A lot of the Old Crew will be there, good people I hardly ever see.

I went to this collective art project at Aotea square at 2pm, but of course it had been cancelled and I didn't know that. I was dressed quite nicely and so went to Smith and Caughey's, knowing I might be mistaken for someone with lots of money. I enjoy looking at horrible pieces of clothing that cost $800 and knowing that my chain store, op-shop, cobbled together glamour is actually not too bad at all. Also, if I paid $800 for a dress and then snagged it on a tree or something, I'd feel terrible, stressed, unable to relax. Obviously one might not be walking in the woods wearing an over priced dress in the first place, but stranger things have happened (at sea, in bars, in cars, on the road, shoot your load).

My face aches. My jaw hurts. This morning I was talking with Lisa, my friend who lives up North; she's got bronchitis and sounded really weighted down with sadness. I asked what's going on?

"Well, it's Julie, she's not very well. You know how she got worse?"

Julie is Lisa's older sister, and she has a brain tumor that is pressing into her frontal lobe (I think that's what it's called). It was diagnosed a year ago, but we never expected her to fall apart quite so ... heart breakingly fast. She's like a child. She can barely care for herself and frequently falls over as the tumor also affects her balance as well as her ability to control her emotions. Yeah, heavy stuff.

So yes, I reply, yes I know how she got worse.

"Well they found that she had fluid on the brain, that sometimes happens with head injuries too, and so they put a shunt in her brain ... and it drains the fluid out when she does wees."

This takes a second to comprehend. Oh my god. A shunt in the brain that drains fluid out through the bladder? Fuck me, that sounds hard core.

Lisa laughs nervously "like one of those dolls ... where you feed it water and it comes straight out the other end".

I sort of laugh too. But of course it's not funny. It's awful. It's intensely sad. So they did the operation in Wellington, but tests showed no improvements, and if anything her memory had deteriorated even further. They thought the shunt would help. It hasn't. So they shipped her back to Wanganui hospital and now she's waiting for another operation. The one they said couldn't be done. To remove the tumor.

As Lisa tells me we both start crying. This could be it. If she doesn't have the operation, she's going to die. If she has it, she may still die. She is 46 years old. She used to be this kick arse, sarcastic, attractive, Vegetarian, A-type personality who told me "you're so weird" from the time I was eight years old. Now she is morbidly obese, her big blue eyes stare at you like a three year old, and she is always exhausted. I haven't seen her for ages. I know when I last saw her there were still traces of the old Julie left. I am sad for Julie, but it is Lisa I am thinking of. Lisa is the most loving, kind, beautiful friend, and she has already lost Julie to illness. Now she may lose her to death. I said that if something goes down (I mean, of course, if she dies) then tell me right away and I will meet her in Wanganui. I cannot bear the thought of Lisa enduring this. I cannot bear it. But I will. Because what else do you do?

I didn't think about this in Smith and Caugheys. I commented on these amazing gold boxes sitting behind the Mimco counter, and the gorgeous shop assistant smiled at me openly and asked if I'd like some.

They're great for storing things in'.

Yes. Yes I would like some gold boxes to store things in. Store them in my room that looks like it's been hit by a clothing tornado. I try on sunglasses that cost $179. They look very good on me. I left my $10 sunnies at Lou and Johhnny's last night. They had me over for dinner and it was just lovely (Johnny is one amazing cook).

I caught the ferry over, Lou picked me up, they fed me and then deposited me back at the ferry so that I could meet up with another friend for drinks in town. I had half a bottle of wine left and took it into the bar, and when my friend finished her drink I used her glass and filled it with my own very nice Pinos Gris. I know, how incredibly cheap is that? Must do it more often. Anyway, what was I on about? Oh, the girl and the gold boxes.

I said

"Sorry I can't buy anything, I'm inbetween jobs" (I really should have applied for an unemployment benefit as soon as my contract ended, but of course I thought I'd get another contract quickly ...)Fortunately I'm on the dole now, just got it end of last week. Spent all my savings on survival. Won't do that again.

"Oh," said the gorgeous Taiwanese shop assistant,

"You should apply for a job at our branch in Ponsonby, it's a management role."

"Well I dont' really have retail experience .."

This isn't entirely true. When I was 19 I worked for Bar and Bartenders, a horrible novelty shop that sold 21st keys and a variety of things in the theme of Cock - chocolate cock, wind-up cock, soap on a rope cock. It was sort of embarrassing if one of my churchies showed up to say hello, for this was when I was a good Christian girl.

About five years ago I worked for these fuckwads who own a shop called Origins; they stocked furniture, lamps, candles, lots of quite lovely things. The owners were horrible people. They screwed everyone down. Evidently a lot of their staff stole things in retaliation for being treated like crap, and after only six weeks working for them my soul was almost broken. Their son went out with one of the shop girls, and even though she worked to a management level and had done so for three years, they had never raised her pay beyond $12. Nasty.

Anyway, I said I had no 'real retail experience', and the truth is, the prospect does scare me. Standing up on a hard concrete floor, that's torture. At the Origins job I had such sore hips at the end of the day that I was almost in tears. It was also stunningly boring.

I have often wondered why shop assistants can't have a dusky pink chaise lounge to relax on whilst customers browse. They could get up and casually ask if you need help, and if not, they return to the chaise to eat marsh mallows and look cute. I wouldn't mind that. Would you? Retail jobs would become sought after. There would be different levels of sitting. Hard wooden stools in places like The Warehouse. Soft covered stools in chainstores like Glassons. Velveteen couches in up market chain stores, and Chaise lounges in designer stores, or a red leather armchair. The seating itself would become part of the store image. I've thought about it. If this Management job in a nice accessories store in Ponsonby came with a cushy leather chair, the latest magazines, and a good quality coffee maker, I would already have applied for it by now.

I'm still thinking about it. I'm not even qualified, that's the funny part! I'd probably have to know how to use Excel spreadsheets. Ugh.

On my way back from Smith and Caugheys and the Collective Art project that didn't happen, I experienced a flame of road rage.

I was doing 50, which, as you may know, is the speed limit. There was a fair bit of traffic about. A dude in front of me indicated that he wanted to pull into the lane, just ahead of me, and of course I slowed slightly to allow him in. As I did so the white, fifty-something, grey haired, driving-a pretentious-vehicle fuck wit behind me tooted his horn loudly. I could see the guy in front of me look up into his rear view. He may have thought it was me.

I looked into my rearview and saw the old fuck wit going 'shoo, shoo, shoo' with his hands, as if I were a duck that he was hurrying along. I kept my face deadpan. I slowly and deliberately gave him a nice big middle finger in my rearview, knowing he could see it. I then made sure I continued to stick to the speed limit, sometimes slowing down to 40 just to piss him off.

'Pass me and die' I thought. Speed along to your death. I shall not miss you, you arrogant, condescending, ignorant piece of shit. Oh, I don't mean it of course. Well, not the death part anyway.

Ok, so I must have needed to unload all of this because I feel much better. The headache is lifting. I can get to Mike and Jane's for a few drinks, then head to New Market to see Otis playing tonight. I never usually make it, but tonight I fully intend to.

My room is a mess. Best get sorting. I have gold boxes to fill.

Update: I suddenly ran out of time. This happens to me a lot. Time goes nowhere. I don't know where, but it just evaporates. So I couldn't get to Mike and Jane's, but I hope they invite me another time as I'd love to have caught up with everyone. I think I needed to just decompress.

Went to see Otis play at the Lucha Lounge which was enjoyable, only I was so tired that I feared I might fall asleep at the table. Fortunately Otis got the audience up and dancing, so I leapt around like a real dick head and enjoyed that immensely.

Night night dickheads

love to you all. xxx