kiwifruit's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The lady who lunches (and obsessively cleans) Ahhhh. The life of an unemployed dotcommer. Yes, I�ve become a statistic, a clich�. Determined to keep my life full I wake up early. I must sing the praises of the automatic coffee machine that you set to brew first thing in the morning so you wake up to the smell of coffee bubbling away. It is enough to drag my sorry ass out of bed, up the stairs, and into the kitchen. Next is the gym. I have discovered why all these Upper West Side mommies have biceps like Madonna. Daytime classes are no kid stuff and running in the park is no � well, it�s no walk in the park. Yeah, still smoking (thanks for asking). After the gym, usually at around 11 or 12 I am then faced with the rest of the day. I have become a �lady who lunches� but strictly under the guise of making contacts. I try to schedule a lunch or even a happy hour glass of wine. I am finally the gal who returns phone calls and emails. Really, send me an email, you�ll see. And if I have no lunches scheduled I loiter about at Barnes & Noble, I haunt every retail establishment known to man. The sales are killer but (lo and behold!) not nearly as fun when one is faced with impending poverty. Who knew? Then there is the apartment, which now rivals Martha Stewart�s in cleanliness and order. There is always some fun thing to do � scrub the windowsills with bleach, organize the medicine cabinet. And there are all those things I have been meaning to do for ages but just haven�t gotten to (because I once had a life). Go to the tailors, the drycleaners, travel down to Third Avenue for some Kiehl�s moisturizer � And we won�t even talk about the impeccable state of my eyebrows and all other bodily hair. No, we really won�t talk about that. I know that soon I will have to really get a job. Because not only will I be broke, but I will also be terribly boring. Yes, a week and a half and the guilt of being a �slacker� is already settling in thick. Every morning C. heads off to the office and I try not to cringe thinking of the fact that I will not be doing the same. The dotcomedy has offered me some freelance work and I may have to do it. I mean what�s not appealing about doing just as much work for HALF the money? Really. Silly me. What�s holding me back? Can�t imagine. But desperation does silly things to a gal. There is one job �opportunity� that hovers in the realm of possibility. The money is good, the offices are gorgeous, and hey � I can make dinner reservations like a pro! Yes, it�s an Executive Assistant position. While it grates me (in ways I can�t even begin to describe, things that would delve deep into my horror at being 31 and still not having a) kids, b) a career, or c) my great American novel published yet � we�re so not going there). Any-hoo, in this economy one can�t afford to be picky. Especially not one who has a liking for weekly manicures, bi-weekly pedicures, $100 jeans and the shoes � yeah, well, you know. So � I find out if I get this one job on Friday. Wish me luck! My sanity may depend upon it. There are only so many times I can Ajax the sink. But now I am back to diaryland having just received a new computer system as a gift from an extremely generous benefactor who thankfully has great faith in my writing ability. Or at least he knows that it keeps me sane (somewhat) and in the end it�s probably cheaper than therapy. I have decided that this is my year to finish my book. Okay, okay � to actually start the stupid thing. I mean, if I�m going to be booking tables at The Park for all of eternity (for dinners I won�t even attend), then I damn well be doing something worthwhile. Otherwise I will fall into an angst-ridden state to rival any Woody Allen character. Okay, more tomorrow � I have been sitting in front of my new �toy� for hours now and it�s time to talk to C., or sleep, or something � La di da, la di da � 10:54 p.m. - 2001-10-24 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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