July 23, 2001

Yesterday was Bray – a little stip of a beach with a Victorian seaside heritage.  Didn’t write this morning as I took a chance and called home and BOTH my mother and sister were there!  When I first got to talk to mom I actually teared up from loneliness and homesickness.  Funny, as for the past two years I haven’t had much contact with home but then I had my very full life in F-town.  Now I guess home is all I have.

I had decided that I wouldn’t withdraw any money until I get paid on Thursday, but my haircut cost five pounds more than it should of out of my mass of hair needing to be shampooed before my mumbling barber would even deign to touch it with his tools.  Something about my hair being impossible to cut dry due to its volume!  I suppose my volume is water soluble.  And as I got my hair cut I decided I should probably shave to complete the hygiene illusion, so I went and took out £60.  I figured if I was buying razors then I needed to buy sandwich elements for work lunches so that I didn’t simply eat candy for two days.  Although that would quite quickly procure for me the 20 Kit Kat wrappers necessary for the free radio I so desire.

I have become a great fan of token promotions off of food packets.  I’ve sort of fallen out of a Weetabix mood, but I bought another box yesterday because that meant that now I can send away for the tin, with a £2.99 postal order.  If I get another pack of Ryvita I can also send those two wrappers along for another air-tight logo-embossed tin.  What a stunning marketing ploy, and how totally have I fallen for it!

There’s that strong, fat-calfed, wide-hipped model of the Irish working woman, whipping her cord around like a tamer in a cage rebuking the vacuum as she absent-mindedly passes her noisy wand over the spotless floor.  Thoroughly uninterested, thoroughly unthorough.

Oh, the caprices of the paying public!  Sunday I couldn’t throw water in the fridge fast enough, and today it’s frozen solid.  But I digress.  Back to money.

To make a long story short, and to ensure that I complete the thought, I withdrew my last bit from my American account – £60.00 – all because of a need/desire for razors that were not so nicked as to induce the feeling of shaving with a  sharpened fork.  Then I thought I should get food as well.  I go to Centra and buy food for the next few days, sit and think if I’ve forgotten anything, remember to get my tin-achieving package of Weetabix, congratulate myself on taking a minute to think before I rushed out, and left.  Sans razors.  So, of course the mission for which the funds were withdrawn in the first place was the ONE objective not achieved.  I luckily found an old razor head that didn’t protest too painfully its call out of retirement, and I shaved anyway.

She was painted black from right under her chin right down to the salmon floor.  Hoped that dressing like a black hole might suck in some of her bulk.  Trying to void it out.  She was a floating alabaster death mask floating over a bell of black sheeting.  But matter can neither be created nor destroyed, and you can’t hide so fleshed out a frame as that.  Though it certainly was more effective than the bright pink so favored by the horribly obese woman.  Still, at the back, her well-intentioned layers of concealment were parted by her sizeable rear end and a strip of bright red underwear bleeding through the cut dashed all that work on the soft wide rocks.

Looking at the schedule for the next four weeks – Angela’s going on vacation so I’m doing six days a week – a daunting task!  However after that I’ll get 3 full days off in a row, which really excites me.  I just don’t want to open weekdays – I must do it five times – because that will mean waking up at 5:30!  And after an evening shift the night before!  THAT’S what I hate – work, sleep, work, with nothing in between.  Expect some bitterness in two weeks!

But I never work more than six days without a break, and if I work ONE week after those three days off then I’ll be at my set number of shifts – NEVER to work in Ireland again!

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again – WHY am I doing this?  I just keep remembering what Fabio would say – “I do not work for work.”  I should go out tonight and get a pint or something.  Otherwise I really will be doing nothing but being the victim of this job.

The scary emaciated monkey of a former Spice Girl on the cover of BELLA has been replaced by a woman who looks eerily like Maeve – those broad lips and hair.  And I bet she can’t hold a 5 pence coin in her dimple though!

I am the blind leading the blind – poor tourists with shaky English ask for advice and I give shaky directions.  And you can just see in their eyes that my jumble isn’t making it in at all.

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