Sun 1, 11pm. Brunswick: my couch. Yesterday’s hangover hanging around. Also hanging around: vague anxiety re Y.P.G.’s unresponsiveness to drunken flirty text messages. Flirty perhaps understatement. Did actually demand Y.P.G. present himself to me naked. Should not be embarrassed: ok to use man for what am lacking. Bored? Will text. Horny? Will fuck. Why men assume that women reaching out in any way means woman wants relationship, wedding bells, child? Will blame Jane Austen. This woman (self) wants sex and v late weeknight flirtation. Wants nothing more from you, Y.P.G. You are small boy. Am woman, feel empowered. Will text for sex.
11.30pm. Great irony: am sex writer but do not know how to use words to get sex. Sexting great mystery of internet generation. How to sext? What to say in message? How best to use emoji to convey both flirtation and aloofness?
Mon 2, 1.30am. Brunswick: my bed. Have decided on phrasing of message but is maybe too late at night to send now??????? Will send later. Now sleep.
Wed 4, 7pm. Brunswick: my bedroom. Booty call text successful. Y.P.G. en route to my house. Reason for visit: Netflix. Netflix thinly-veiled excuse for sex, obv. Am already in pyjamas. Slight dilemma – remain in pyjamas, or put on clothes? Decide to remain in pyjamas, but change from comfortable hi-cut briefs to ridiculous lacy g-string. Pyjamas cute, right? G-string concession enough.
Thurs 5, 11am. Brunswick: Jewell train station. MEN ARE THE WORST. WHAT THE FUCK. PREFER VIBRATOR.
11.30am. Y.P.G. smelled/tasted of bad whiskey. Not good sign. Sex good but cut short by Y.P.G.’s grunty orgasm and subsequent tiredness. Y.P.G. fell asleep almost immediately after removing condom. Lay beside him in disbelief for ~ 5 min before snore confirmed worst. Too angry even to finish self off. Leaving sexual partner unsatisfied v bad sex etiquette: possibly worst sex sin. In morning Y.P.G. had enough nerve to say my restlessness kept him awake. Why do you think I was so restless, man child????? And if awake why did you not do something useful with hands i.e. finish the job you started??? Gave my best withering glare. Withering glare received w appropriate level of humility. Y.P.G. total banana. Did not kiss goodbye.
Fri 6, 5.15am. Tullamarine airport: domestic terminal. Have just paid $8 for v shitty croissant. Cheese inside croissant unmelted. Cheese in fact still cold, as though from fridge. Understand is v early in morning for croissant-maker, but also v early in morning for me. Inadequate breakfast. Bad mood.
5.30am. Sit at gate to eat shitty croissant. Guy next to me has emitted v offensive eggy fart. Would usually maintain outward appearance of politeness and pretend not to notice, but is far too early in morning for this shit. Throw wayward distasteful glare in direction of Mr. Egg, move seats pointedly.
5.50am. Mr. Egg inevitably sits next to me on plane, immediately manspreads over my armrest. Distasteful glare fast becoming resting face du jour.
6.20am. Fart count: 4. Plane inside cloud. Is easy to imagine cloud not precipitation but actually Mr. Egg’s own gaseous emission.
7.30am. Adelaide airport: domestic terminal. Am always able to identify own suitcase on luggage carousel due to holographic ribbon tied on handle by father in 2003. Thinking of father heartwarming; seeing father at airport waiting for me total surprise. Bad mood evaporated by soppy feeling of homecoming and v long hug.
Sat 7, 8pm. Clarence Park: Bek’s house. Somewhat drunken discussion w dear friend re body image and female empowerment. Feel that female bodies – our bodies – looked at critically by others and selves. Must learn to ignore critical and sexual gazes and allow body to be body, not object. Declaration of own agency washed down w some kind of v regrettable vodka/red bull mix.
9.30pm, Hindley Street: Rocket Rooftop Bar. What is in this shot? No, is wrong question. Right question: do I care? Answer: no.
11.30pm. Is this sixth or seventh shot? Surrounded by faces have not seen in months. Faces belong to wonderful people. Feel as though bright light of happiness radiating visibly from body. Light tinged green due to green shots. Do not want to know what makes shots green.
Sun 8, 1.30am. Bailing due to supreme drunkenness. Find Chelsea, who is bestie of almost decade, who is moving to London. Engage Chelsea in weepy drunken hug that lasts somewhere between 35 seconds and a year but still not long enough. :’(
2am. Cumberland Park: McDonald’s. Have called dad to collect drunken self from city as parents live in Buttfuck Nowhere and taxi from city costs ~$80 (which do not have). Have ordered dad to make pitstop for fries. Am shoving fries into mouth by the handful. Am classy grown woman. Dad concurs.
2.15am. Cumberland Park: side of road. Have ordered dad to make pitstop for vomit. Am embarrassed since last time dad witnessed me vomit was probably 20 years ago and child vomit infinitely more excusable than drunk vomit. Vomit tinged green due to green shots. Must find out what makes shots green and never drink it again.
Thurs 19, 4pm. Tullamarine aiport: domestic terminal. Am real jetsetter. Heading to Canberra for writers’ festival where will read own work to (hopefully adoring) crowd.
Sat 21, 11pm. Forrest: Sam’s house. Read own work, crowd received well despite explicit reference to own cunt. Maybe because of explicit reference to own cunt. Am about to eat fries in Sam’s bed w Sam and watch Rent because is her fav movie. Bless.
Fri 27, 10.30pm. Melbourne: 1000 Pound Bend. Drinking w Sian when Y.P.G. appears. Exchange kiss on cheek. Y.P.G. wonders why have not been replying to his text messages and asks me to text him during week. Smile non-committally. Watch Y.P.G. return to table of friends. Discuss w Sian whether worth giving second chance, decide yes, then decide no. Decide will decide later. Now is time for beer and not time for decisions.
Sat 28, 11.30pm. Abbotsford: Shadow Electric. Everyone at this party so well-dressed. Feel vague sense of inadequacy re own clothes. Do not care because vodka. DJ plays Savage Garden and Sian takes hand and pulls to dance floor. What are you supposed to do with arms when dancing? Ask Sian. Sian agrees arms great living mystery of dance floor.
Sun 29, 1pm. Brunswick: Green’s Refectory. Brunch w Sian. Quietly hung over. Coffee, juice, eggs fix everything. No, food is not fix. Fix is friendship. Smile quietly to self while Sian goes to order. Smiling re month of v good company in 3 states. Friends make body glow.
Emma Marie Jones is a Melbourne-based poet and writer and the Sex Editor at SPOOK magazine. Her short fiction, poems, essays and criticism have appeared in SPOOK, Scum, The Lifted Brow, Stilts, The Suburban Review.