Sunday, 28 December 2008

I want to be the sort of teacher who smiles at the children and tells them, 'all ideas are good ideas'.

Then they might become murderers, or brilliant creatives with nothing to sell. Or maybe they'd become these things regardless.

Friday, 19 December 2008

Sometimes a piece of my nail polish gets stuck to the stickers I use when wrapping gifts at work and strangers get some of my DNA for Christmas.

But they don't know it because the stickers are not see-through. I guess some other people or maybe the same people also recieve some of my skin cells for Christmas.

Customers come to my shop and buy Christmas gifts and I wrap them in tissue paper and put them in gift boxes. The shop actually belongs to someone else, so I have to compliment the customers on at least one of the things that they buy. That is a rule. If I don't do it I could get fired. Sometimes they buy some really disgusting beige pvc bag or like a set of 4 leg warmers for dogs. I could also get fired for wearing flowery skirts and being late from taking my Nan to lunch. It didn't happen yet though because I am actually very good making customers more happy and more calm than before they met me.

I sell some cheap metal jewellery to a woman. The jewellery has gold glitter stuck on it, on purpose. I talk to the woman about her plans for Christmas and about my mum's job as a travel agent. I pretty much just talk about whatever. In real life I am very quiet but at work I chat because I want them to feel calmer and happier from making a human connection. I ask the woman if she has many gifts left to buy and if she likes the ones she already got. She is worried that her neice may not like the gold glitter jewellery. I tell her that I would be happy if I recieved the gold glitter jewellery. I have no idea if this is true. She asks me where I got my hat. I got it in Canada and I am meant to lie to her and say I got it in the shop I work in. I don't want to lie to her.

The woman really wants me to meet her son. She says, 'I really want you to meet my Son. He works in the o2 shop. He's the one with the afro. Do you know him?' I tell her I don't really live in this town, and I haven't been to the other end of the shopping centre where the o2 shop is, not in 4 years or so. She tells me I should pop along and have a chat but not tell him that I know his mum. She tells me that I seem really nice. She tells me again to pop along and chat with her son.

A few days later I go to the other end of the shopping centre and I see the guy with the afro in the o2 shop. He is laughing. He looks friendly. He is sixteen, maybe seventeen. As I walk past he looks at my flowery skirt and maybe my face or my glasses. I pretend not to see him. I don't know why I do that.

Thursday, 18 December 2008


Dear UEA,

I love you.

Please stop emailing me.

It just makes the seperation more painful.