”Today,” I announced to my parents earlier from under the duvet, ”I have taken to the bed, and will not get up until I have a job.” Both parents, standing at the door of the room, looked at each other. Papabear said ”What’s for tea?” and Mammy said ”Fish.” As I don’t eat fish, I said ”I don’t eat fish.” Then they both left, closing the door behind them.
Alone, I suddenly realised I was slightly peckish and can announce that I followed my ever loving parents to the kitchen where I partook of some tea and toast. Then Mammy read my angel cards which have advised me to take a course in comedic writing, and then become a stand up comedian. This is funny, as I discussed the possibility of writing a comedy show thing with Lilsister, which she promised she would perform, as I am too ugly to go on stage. The angel also asked me to have a sense of humour about my present situation, that being – I am alone, broke, jobless and living with my parents at the age of 37 with nothing but the rustling of divorce papers to keep me warm at night.
Funny? You betcha.
Speaking of funny, had another weird dream last night. Most of my dreams are weird but usually I forget all about them. In it, I was a sad 37 year old living with her parents. I was in our house, which looked slightly different, when a soldier from World War 1 parachuted into our housing estate, and plopped onto a field outside the house across the road. I watched this from a bedroom window, then went back to what I assume was my bedroom, and two people from my last job in Melbourne were there – Marcus the old team leader and Princess Martina, the excessively self-obsessed bloke who sat slightly behind me. Both advised me they were here to clean the windows, as they had recently become window cleaners. I congratulated them on finding jobs and advised them that I had not. Then they said they had to go and clean the windows. Then I said to them – what are you doing in Paris? Which is odd because I live in Dublin, and the soldier outside was shouting at the house across the road for one of my Dublin neighbours to accompany him back to the war.
Then I saw Sarkozy on the news telling the Greeks how to manage their debt problems. Think I’ll stick to Dublin. Paris seems colder by comparison.