Emma Jones’s Diary: October

October 8, 3.00pm. QV: Officeworks. Binder lady, do u even know what u are binding? That’s my THESIS. That’s a YEAR’S WORK. Do u even know how PRECIOUS those 63 pages are? I cried over those pages more than I ever cried over ANY BOY. DON’T GET UR FINGERPRINTS ALL OVER THE PLASTIC. JUST DON’T EVEN TOUCH IT JUST GIVE IT TO ME LIKE AS IF U WERE A MIDWIFE AND IT WAS A NEWBORN OK. I was gonna ask u to take a photo of me holding it but clearly u are incompetent and I will have to wait until I get home and ask my housemates instead.

6.15pm. Thornbury: My living room. Holding thesis in own hands feels like fever dream. Must gram moment to cement experience as ~real experience~ and not imagined, hallucinogenic trip catalysed by total nervous thesis-induced breakdown:

IT IS DONE 🙌

A photo posted by emmacones (@emmacones) on


October 9, 4.00pm. Parkville: Melbourne University.
Like six months ago Eloise and I promised each other would submit theses (rhymes w faeces, lol) together and today we are doing it. TODAY WE ARE DOING IT. We are strong, independent, intellectual academia babes. We are standing in front of submission slot. We are so nervous Eloise has forgotten how to operate bulldog clip.  

7.00pm. Brunswick: Sarah’s house. Sarah lives in massive house w gothic spire and overgrown front lawn which is v perf for post-thesis lounging. Sarah’s housemates keep shouting “it’s thesis day!” in chorus and pouring Pimm’s from jugs into our cups. Eloise and I are on same pee schedule: are we same person to such extent that our bladders are exact same size?  

11.00pm. Paul is here! Alice is here! There’s a power blackout! I’m too drunk and experiencing extreme thesis comedown! It’s abt to rain! Time 4 Eloise and I to walk home, smoke joint, massage each other’s joints.  

October 11, 3.15pm. Thornbury: my living room. Tfw ur sitting cross-legged on ur couch in white shorts and ur housemate’s friends come over and meet u for the first time and look at u kind of weird but u don’t know why and then 10 minutes later u go to pee and realise that u just got ur period and there’s a MASSIVE BLOODSTAIN on ur crotch that woulda been TOTALLY VISIBLE HOLY SHIT OMG •(◐﹏◐)•   5.20pm. Have been hiding in shed for past hours, in clean shorts, chain-smoking and embarrassed when decide housemate and friends mature enough to realise bleed regularly, can deal. Go inside, pour self wine, join boys on couch, watch Frankenstein, try avoiding obvious connection between monster on screen and monster shedding lining inside own body.  

17 October, 10.08pm. Thornbury: my living room. Am about to take MDMA for first time. Am looking cute as fuck. Am ready 2 party.  

11.20pm. Omg there r lines on a painting of a butt and everything. Should I b nervous? What if I puke? Have never snorted? Can’t snort. Eat. Tastes gross. Wash down w wine.  

11.45pm. Knees weak palms r sweaty. No vomit on my sweater already. Praying 4 no mom’s spaghetti.  

1.00am. I FEEL LIKE A MILLION BUX!!!!!!! Pictures speak louder than words.
  butt lines

raver glasses

1.30am. Some guy’s house party: North Fitzroy. We’re abt to leave this rly weird house party hosted by a guy none of us know who works at Savers and recognises me because I went there today to buy these great pants I’m wearing. The music sucks. Who parties to folk funk?  

1.55am. Northcote: 24 Moons. They’re only letting hot girls into the club bc I guess it’s a sausagefest in there. Since we got a sausage in our crew we decide 2 BOYcott (lol) and go back to my shed, smoke joints, listen to tunes.  

3.39am. Thornbury: my shed. Blissing out to Max Richter’s recomposed Vivaldi. Couch cloud. Body air. Mind vapour.  

4.17am. Do u think my life is funny cos it is like Bridget Jones’s life? I mean I actually own white control panties, wear on reg.  

5.10am. Thornbury: my bathroom. I’m so full of love 4 everything but I have nobody to project it onto so I’m just staring at myself in the mirror and it’s like I’m realising for the first time that I’m fucking perfect. Take shower. Water feels like hot drops of paradise touching skin. Brushing teeth feels like masturbation. Brush teeth for 15 minutes. 20 minutes. 25 minutes. Go to bed, talk to cat. Tell cat is lifelong companion, is/always will be ultimate recipient of upwelling of love and bliss. Mean it.  

18 October, 4.10pm. Thornbury: my living room. Uuuuuuuuugh.  

couch selfie

22 October, 1.20pm. Moonee Ponds: Centrelink. Just told my Centrelink worker I finished my thesis and she actually wept. Now both weeping, clutching hands, she is so proud, I am so proud, she is so certain I am employable, I am so torn between puncturing her innocent faith in the system and allowing her to continue believing that someone in the world would hire me based on academic credentials alone.  

3.30pm. Collingwood: Hot Potatoes. Hannah and I just found a whole section dedicated to dick-themed items. Straws, hats, whistles, cutlery, glasses w a nose attachment that is a dick. Hen’s night accessories, or wardrobe necessities?  

7.30pm. Thornbury: my couch. Bachelorette grand finale causing mixed emotions. Will Sam choose Sash (obv love of her life) or Michael (obv television’s biggest scumbag)? Will the saying “cool bananas” take off? Will I be ok abt that happening if it does? What will we live tweet when this is over? How will I get a twice-weekly update on the status of Osher’s manscaping?  

24 October, 9.40pm. Thornbury: my shed. Skype Chelsea, best m8 of ten years living in London. Over Skype, compare Melbourne’s Tinder prospects to London’s. London Tinder: notably better, altho both cities equally full of douchelords who use bios to proclaim that they r tall and not interested in women w body hair. Chelsea is coming to visit in 2 weeks. We smoke a joint together. Well, we smoke two separate joints at same time together, but feels like we are in same room, which we kind of are if u think abt the internet as a door, or the computer screen as a window, which is a p natural school of thought after a sneaky lil choof 😉  

25 October, 1.00pm. Healesville: Tarrawarra Museum of Art. Lawn sloping down to reed-fringed lake, first sunshine in days. Damp grass seeping thru the seats of our pants. Wanting to smoke a cigarette but no, the air’s too pure and the scene too still and the vibe of love too fulfilling. W Emily and Sarah, who haven’t seen for far too long. ˚‧*♡ॢ˃̶̤̀◡˂̶̤́♡ॢ*‧˚  

3.30pm. Visit Pierre Huyghe exhibition. Deep thoughts abt Lacan, concentric circles, the imaginary and the symbolic and the real. Deep thoughts abt the overripe being so abject – why? Is it bc it has been abandoned? Is it bc it sits at the precipice of decay, collapse?  

7.00pm. Thornbury: my backyard. Neighbourino swings by w six-pack of craft beer as peace offering for noise complaint he made earlier this weekend when housemates/angels M and M and I were listening to PA system at 1am. Apologised 4 being “that guy”. M and M and I get v drunk on Neighbourino’s peace offering (and stash of Yalumba). Thank u, sexy Flanders!  

31 October, 1.00pm. Scornbury: my shed. OMG. Our Halloween party is TODAY. Everything is almost ready. Have actually bought alcopops. Shit’s abt to get REAL. Screen Shot 2015-11-15 at 1.11.26 PM

8.00pm. Omg Hannah’s here and our costumes worked and it turns out post-its are like so fkn lucrative

 

we invented post-its @hannahhawkins 💖 A photo posted by emmacones (@emmacones) on


 11.00pm. ELOISE JUST ARRIVED AND SIAN IS A CUTE WITCH AND I’M PRETTY SURE SOMEONE JUST DROPPED JUSTIN BIEBER’S “SORRY” AND I HAVEN’T EVEN FALLEN OVER IN THESE HEELS YET AND I HAVEN’T PEED ALONE ONCE AND I’M SO HIGH AND MY HOUSEMATES’ COSTUMES ARE JUST MINT AND EVERYONE AT THIS PARTY IS AN ANGEL OMG OMG OMG

6.00am. Tfw ur coming down a lil bit and u just wanna have a shower but there’s some couple having sex in ur shower and then u get so gacked u decide to tell ur crush abt ur crush on ur crush but ur crush tells u ur his best friend but ur both so fucked up u just kinda lie there w ur eyes rolling back into ur heads for a while and then u go rejoin the party and someone pulls the dragon of positivity down from the roof and tears it open by the mouth so that its lifeblood spills all over the floor and ur dancing anyway and ur bestie’s planting kisses on yr cheeks and temples and telling u that u are a revelation and a revolution and u believe her cos her word is gospel to u like nobody else’s is and u know this party’s a success and u are a success u are a goddess and a queen even tho ur heart is breaking or maybe not breaking but bruised yeah just a lil bruised, just a lil bruised, and someone puts a valium in one of ur hands and a joint in the other and Inside Amy Schumer is playing and a friendly head is on ur shoulder and the sun’s coming up, and it’s all good u know? It’s gonna be all good.

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.

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