Jolly Jefferson #6

June 1, 2007

I’m sitting on the plane, waiting to go to America. I’m writing this journal, in case my friends are correct and I change. I want to be able to look back at myself a year from now and see what I was thinking, see if I’m the same person.

My friends all think I’m nuts. They say the Americans are all decadent pigs and that I will become obese and opposed to taxes. Of course I laughed along and pretended to agree. But deep down, I smiled to myself. I was so excited to be getting this promotion. The company is showing a lot of faith in me.

Sure, I have heard that women only make 75 cents on the dollar in the America. And the lower taxes there mean fewer social programs. And that goes against my socialist nature. But I believe in the American dream. God, I feel like such a traitor writing that. But, it’s true. People in America can change classes in ways that some in Europe are still incapable of.

The flight attendant says it’s time to put you away, diary, so I’ll write more when I arrive.

August 8, 2007

I’ve met a man! Luke is fabulous. He treats me well, takes me to all the best places and my God the sex! I’d write details but I understand they may be illegal in 37 states. More details to follow, but Luke’s on his way over to pick me up.

October 12, 2007

I noticed the strangest thing at work last week. On the floor of the third floor women’s room is a small yellow candy. I believe it’s called a Skittle. It’s been there for a week. I don’t know why the cleaning crew hasn’t cleaned it up, but despite being in there every night, the Skittle remains.

The truly odd thing is, every time I go to use the bathroom, I think about picking it up and eating it. It clearly has some magical clean-up avoidance power. Maybe it’s there for me and me alone.

Maybe I’m having these weird thoughts because things haven’t been going well with Luke. We’re fighting more and more, and while the make-up sex is still fantastic, it seems to be the bulk of what we’re having. And that’s no way to have a relationship.

December 1, 2007

I think my friends are right. I’m becoming more withdrawn. I don’t want to talk to people any more. I don’t go out unless I have to. I’ve been ducking phone calls from friends back home. And when I see someone coming over to talk to me, I grab my cell and pretend to be speaking to someone. Even with Luke. Especially with Luke.

The Skittle is still there on the bathroom floor. It’s been two and a half months and still it sits there, as if mocking me. Each day I get closer to picking it up and eating it.

March 21, 2008

So much for the American dream. I’ve been here nine months and nothing is going my way. The fling with Luke ended last month, I’ve just been too scared to write it down here, as if writing it down makes it more real. Honestly, it had been over for weeks. We just let it run on inertia, finding various excuses not to see each other.

Finally, he convinced me to go out for drinks. It may have had something to do with the fact that when I saw him and pretended to be on the phone, the thing rang in my hand. I was so mortified. I agreed to drinks and we ended it.

I can’t wait for the next three months to pass. I just want to go home. I want to see my friends again. I want to forget about Luke.

That damned Skittle is still there. I like to pretend its something else. Some magic pill that I can take and forget about everything that’s happened here. Like in Alice in Wonderland or the Matrix. My plane flight was the red pill, my trip down the rabbit hole. That Skittle is the blue pill. I’ll take it, fall asleep and wake up back in my own bed. And this last nine months will have been all a dream.

The only thing that keeps me from popping it in my mouth is the fact it’s been sitting next to a toilet for six months and while I want to forget all this, I don’t have a death wish.

May 30, 2008

I’m sitting on the plane again, ready to go home. I’m a changed woman. But things are better than they were two months ago. I got over Luke, got back into work. Started talking to my friends again, in eager anticipation of my inevitable return.

The strangest thing happened yesterday. I was packing up my office and I headed to the third floor bathroom. I’d brought a rubber glove I used to clean in my apartment and a little plastic baggie. I planned to grab that Skittle and bring it with me. It had gone through a lot, and so had I. I’m sure it had been pissed on and lord knows I felt like I had. But somehow, we’d managed to endure together.

I wanted the Skittle as a symbol of my year in America. It was better than any other souvenir I could have come up with.

But when I went to pick it up, it was gone!