tagNon-EroticA Week in the Life

A Week in the Life



I was watching TV one day and someone said that you could tell what kind a person was by their fingernails. Mine were starting to regrow. They grow back in cycles – I bite them when I'm bored, when I'm reading, when I'm watching TV. And then I let them regrow, thinking that that was the last time I would chew them.

I was watching the news Sunday and Casey was on it.

I started chewing.

They had a picture of her with a flower in her hair, in a white dress, and with a boy in a formal suit. (Her last name is Montré). It was a formal photo from last year. I had the volume on the TV turned right down; my mum was asleep in her room behind mine. The walls are thin in our house. I didn't hear what the reporter was saying, but there's only one sort of story where they set you up with a before-shot like Casey's there.

I kept chewing.

They cut to an action shot of an old pastel blue station wagon slamming into a poll. It was amateur footage as the caption below told me, and taken from Cowes, Phillip Island.

There was another shot of a girl who I assume was the other passenger – I recognised her as Megan. Then one shot of a body, covered up with a white sheet, being wheeled away from the scene. And then there was a glimpse of a bloody, staggering person being helped away from the smoking wreck. I couldn't see a face or the hair through all the matted blood and grime.

I turned off the TV.

I'd seen enough.

My cuticles bled and my nails were torn below the tip of my finger, red and angry.

I didn't write in my diary that night. I recorded it as 'No entry.' I slept deeply, sadly.


DIARY ENTRY: SUNDAY (10-1.30). DAY 8. No entry.


You would not believe me if I told you.

Holy god I don't think you would ever believe this.

There must be an angel flying over me.


And oh my Lord that angel has been good to me.

This is the best day. Not of my life, but of life. It has to be. This has to be what it's all about. Incredible.

I wrote down afterwards everything I was feeling – that happened. I had to otherwise I'd forget. I needed to get it all down partly because I was anxious after she left and I wanted to relive it. I'll staple what I wrote on the paper here.

Just as a precursor, may I say that I was in Target picking up my lay-by – it had Christmas presents for my mum and dad and step-mum and step-sister in it. And then I was sort of accosted by Casey there, we wound up at Gloria Jeans having iced chocolates (BEST ICED CHOCOLATES IN THE WORLD ON THE BEST DAY OF LIFE.) and then I needed to go to the toilet. I went and then cleaned up and whatnot and then what you are about to read happened. I assume that if we were in the same place and time right now future versions of me, that we would wink at each other and smile knowingly at the me who would be reading this (me now being past me, present me being me reading it and future me's being all me's after reading it – if that makes sense)..So here goes:

CRUMPLED NOTE STAPLED INTO DIARY (It is folded many times, and a tear has formed down one crease. It is a little smudged and has been marked and blotched by large or numerous water marks):

She approached me, and we went to a coffee house before returning to my house. Mum was at golf with my step-father, and my sister hadn't risen from her room – it was barely 2.30 pm...too early yet. Casey came with me to my house and as we stood in my room and she began surveying the surrounds, I was struck by how amazing the moment was; of having Casey there in my most familiar place with me.

Focused there, my peripheral vision saw her step close to me. I could smell her; the light exotic scent of body spray on her clothing, the pheromones emanating from her. I could hear her softly breathing and felt that incalculable force welling within me, flowing to my limbs and my eyes and my face.

She came closer to me and we were as mannequins, holding a position determined by some other person, until we became alive, like it were a play with stage directions and actions to execute. We embodied and fed off the force that held us in place there.

Then she spoke, 'I want you all to myself...'

All at once the world came together and time fell apart. I reached out a little way for her and she came. The magnet pulled strongly and our need for contact increased exponentially with each millimetre of distance lost from between us. She pushed her fringe out of her eyes in a motion meant to place it behind an ear, but it fell back as soon as her hand left it. In one sweeping motion she stepped close to me, her feet planted one between my own and the other outside. She put a hand around to my back, feeling my latisimus and wanting to pull me in even closer. The warmth from her skin came through my clothes and tattooed my own as I stepped back to the wall behind, pulling her with me. I put my hand behind her neck and she leant against me, holding me against the tiles. Like an explosion of want our breath left our bodies and our lips met in an ardent, desperate kiss. We panted and held and I felt her pull me to her tighter and tighter with each breath we resurfaced for. She wanted me and we needed more. I needed her more and more with each second, I needed her holding me and kissing me and it wasn't enough – could never be enough.

I felt her body beneath her clothes; the tightness of her back. She just held me tight against her, drawing me in and drowning me. I surrendered to the winding flow of craving that bound us together, putting my hands on her, running them over as much of her body as I could. Under her clothes, through her hair, over her skin and on her face I traced my hands. I pushed back now, staggering her into a stall, the small space reflecting and rebounding the tightness and compression of our desire for each other. It condensed the air as it condensed our actions into small but forceful ones. I unzipped my hoodie and reached for her waist as she simultaneously pushed it from my shoulders. I kissed her jaw and then her neck as she unbuttoned my jeans whilst still keeping a minimum of space between our bodies...

...I won't speak the details, too precious. But I will say that after, we held each other like the world was going to end.

That force was alive, and it breathed in us, through us and nourished us. It would never be exhausted and it would never tire. It was like a rabid bushfire, ceaseless and burning for...

(The last word has been smudged by moisture and a fingerprint dragging it into illegibility)

FRIDAY (5.30-9). DAY 6.

Work was boring today. I had to unbag rail after rail of hung, wrapped clothing. There were plastic zip-ties around the tops, binding the hangers together in bunches and they were annoying as f**k to remove.

You know what, future me? I don't give a s**t what you think about me blanking out cusses just in case you were wondering. I've explained it enough times before and I'll say it again but no matter how naturally they come in speech, I can't stand reading them so I assume you will feel the same way, being only a natural progression of me as I am now.

Anyway, so the only thing that kept me from having my brain stop and heart fail out of sheer misery on the job was imagining Casey.

I know it's sad, or maybe in the future you will look back and think: Nic, if you only knew what is to come... I dunno, it's just that the dream set me up so much and now I can't shake that feeling I had when I was in it. And it seems like everything will work out the way it did in the dream. I mean, I've gotten all the signals, all the vibes and definitely all the looks that I should be getting in lead up to- but I can't seem to get it out. Those six words I really want to say that would make everything so perfect and clear – "wanna go out with me sometime?"

Maybe when she comes in next. She knows when I'm working, like, what days I work and it's the same every week so if she wants to see me she can.

Maybe if she comes alone sometime I could just ask her. I mean I should...and maybe she's waiting for me to make the move? But how the hell am I supposed to know?? I've never made the first move. I've never moved if you wanna put it like that. Never dated or kissed someone (not since grade 2 anyways)...

I wish it could be spelled out for me and work like a movie. Things always work out in the movies. In the good ones anyway.


THURSDAY (4.30-9). DAY 5.

Casey came in again. Her friend Megan was with her too. I sort of get a weird vibe off her. Like she's checking me out. Not that I don't like women...just...well you'd know future Nic that too much un-wanted attention makes you feel like your skin is crawling...OUR skin is crawling.

I shouldn't be so shallow or freaked out and just assume because I feel weird about Megan that that means she was checking me out. I mean it's really narcissistic right? Yeah, don't give me THAT future me, I know you're probably doing that knowing smile...well piss off with your smile because if you care to remember in your distant past, right about... NOW in time you were feeling exactly like ME okay??

So I asked Casey what she was doing on the weekend – big step and I feel like an idiot now because I think that I maybe sounded a bit like it was a precursor to asking her out...or to do something with me...

Anywho, so Megan freaks me out and Casey is lovely. As always. She's so pretty. GOD I wish she was my girlfriend...I feel like I've never wanted anyone so bad, which a) is pretty intense for someone I barely know, b) whom I only just met and c) I know I've said the same thing successively about every other crush or 'love' or whatever that I've ever had.

But I want her so bad (and AND AND she asked me what days I work – I told her of course. She so wants me.) Oh my god I'm such an idiot. I want her so much.

It feels like a bit of an ache in my diaphragm, although I hate using that word – it is exactly where the feeling is but looks so...unpoetic. But chest isn't really specific.

The feeling sort of starts below the rib-cage, in the very centre of my core, then it flows (slowly though so I don't know if flow is a good word...maybe eases. Yeah.) and it eases up behind my lungs and into the pit of my throat. Behind that bit where your collar bones dip. In the dip of your collar bone. That's better.

And then it rises a little more to sit just behind your oesophagus. You can feel it if you press the flesh of your throat back against the ridges protecting your windpipe, about midway up your neck. Rub it around gently and that sensation is a more precise version of the feeling I have now.

Running out of page now so I'll have to use what's left from yesterdays...

WEDNESDAY (9-1.30). DAY 4.

No Casey today. But then, how many times a week should a girl come to the local Target?

I mean, I'd like her to see me everyday. But then I only work a couple of days. It makes me wonder if she has come everyday to see when I'm working. I want to be there when she's there. If you'd paid any attention to my work times up top of the page you'd see, future me, that you used to work most days in the week – SunDAY, Monday arvo, WednesDAY, Thursday and Friday nights.

I imagine these scenarios between Casey and me. Like, I'll be walking out the front of the store the day we met and then she'd come into Target in her cream halter top, light blue mini and her beautiful soft blonde hair (I know it's soft from the dream and in dreams you just know things). It was tied up in a pony-tail like before, and she'd see me and say – 'Umm excuse me but, I think I had a dream about you.'

I would smile and be all cool and self-assured and raise my eyebrows and say, 'Really? What was I doing?' and then she'd blush and look away.

I would chuckle, immediately showing that I knew exactly what I had been doing (and to whom wink wink) and then I'd say 'hehe...well I think that I had a dream about you too-'

She'd look at me expectantly, hopefully and I'd finish '-only I think we might have had the same dream.' And then I'd wink at her, she'd blush and we'd somehow wind up together.

I wish. You have no idea how I wish that would happen. I put so much emotion into those scenarios. Maybe it's pathetic. I should just write them out and make them into a story, all these crazy illusions of mine. Anyway, so that's what I wish had happened. Although how we met in real life was good too. Surprising, but good. :P

So yeah. Other than that, day was boring and went really slow. I spent most of it thinking about Casey (how unusual of me now) and being annoyed that mum's always in bed and I can never watch the SBS movies in the lounge in case I wake her up. F**k it pisses me off. Night all future me's.


...(cont from Thursday because ran out of room!!. READ Thursday day 5 again to make sense!!!)

So maybe I over described that. But that's exactly the feeling I get.

I procrastinate so much, I mean I wrote all that description as a diversion from what I was going to say...

So I asked her what she was doing on the weekend and she said she was going on schoolies to Phillip Island for a week. Sad face emoticon that I can't draw properly here.

You know I was on top of the world a second before and then all of a sudden CRASH.

After that I was really dreading her going home, or to wherever she went after we spoke.

So I guess she's on her way now, or maybe they'll leave early tomorrow – she and whoever else she's with.

Whatever. I shouldn't care so much.

So the rest of the day was okay I guess. Mum was being a bitch 'cause I didn't wash the dishes before she went to bed, which was all of five minutes after tea. I've done them now, but I left a message on the board on the fridge saying 'Happy now?'

I don't feel so angry now... maybe I'll take it off. Night.

- Nic


No work.

No work means no Casey. Ah well. Having only seen her a couple of times and considering I don't really know much about her I shouldn't have been as cut as I was when she left yesterday.

Haven't really done much. I wish I could have that dream again. It was perfect. Beautiful and gave me that same intense feeling that I have when I see or think of Casey now.


So yeah.

Day boring.

No work.

No Casey – even worse.


MONDAY (12.30-5.30). DAY 2.

Casey was in again. Omg she's so beautiful and wonderful and amazing and hot and gorgeous and the simple, needy, wanting part of my brain is interpreting everything she says and how she looks at me as an expression of her feeling the same way for me. It's ridiculous I know, but I think she does. I wonder if she's gay. Trusting me, she's probably not. But still, the fact that she exists at all is miracle enough to say that if she exists, then other parts of the dream must come true as well! I knew it was a good idea to write that dream down, weird in parts as it was.

But then, you've seen Mulholland Drive and everyone knows that dream logic works different to waking logic.

It was so sweet though, today Casey came in but I was serving a customer and my workmate Liz was free to serve her but Casey still waited for me to be done soI could serve her.

She wants me. ...I think. Anyway so she asked me all these questions, like what school did I go to and did I work at Target all the time and what did I do when I didn't. She was so so cute and I really wanted to kiss her. It was really bad cause the entire time she was talking I tended to look at her lips and the skin around them, lingering over the soft curves and shadowing on her face. I think she noticed because a couple of times she coloured. She didn't ask me the B- question.

The Boyfriend question, though. I mean, I don't know if I should've come out to her. If I should've told her I'm gay. It always goes one of two ways – either they're pleasantly surprised or they're shocked and then I think that they are thinking about whether I'm sweet on them or something.

Whatever. SO we talked for a while. She goes to Beaconhills (bleh – but makes me wish I'd gone there. Maybe we would have met) and has just finished her VCE exams. She is heading to Deakin Uni to do high school teaching. I told her 'wow, well good job. I wish I'd had you for a teacher in school-' I thought that I may have overstepped it there, but she grinned like an idiot (if you can use that expression with Casey, but I don't think that it does justice to her smile, which is heavenly if you must know – I'm sure you remember :P) and blushed.

I saved myself by saying '-we had crap teachers, and for most of them I couldn't understand what they were saying 'cause they were migrants and didn't speak proper English or something. Knowing how we treated out teachers at school I wouldn't want to be them.'

She laughed at that. Megan, the girl from yesterday was there as well. She didn't laugh. Bitch. But Casey did.

She thought I was funny. I could make her laugh. That made me feel sooooo good. You have no idea, it was incredible. Rush of endorphins.

Sigh. I want Casey. I want to dream of her again. Maybe I will tonight if I go to sleep thinking about her...


P.S OH! Mum has been changed to nightshift which should be good. So she'll be home when I get back from work during the week. We could go out to the movies during the day when she isn't working and I'll see her more. I have weird hours at work and I hardly ever see her now. She wasn't really happy 'bout the shift change, but she's contracted to do whatever they dictate so she can't really say no. I think it'll be better though. She'll get used to it. I think it'll be better.




Her name is Casey.

The dreamgirl's name is Casey.


She's f**king REAL.

I was working away, serving a customer and sort of in a zone like you get sometimes. I staple some stuff together to put away and call out 'Who was next?' and I look up and do two things.

I freeze – My brain locks up for an instant – I register who I'm looking at, taking in all 5'4'' (I would guess...) of this 'fictitious' character I dreamt up.

Then: My blood starts boiling. It surges up to my face, I can feel it swelling from my heart, pounding down my arteries and into my now shaking hands.

I mean, I could barely f**king speak. But in the interests of scientific observation and note-taking pending further perusal, this is she:

5'4'' or about there. I'm so bad with judging height.

Blonde hair – exactly like in the dream.

Beautiful, even, lightly tanned skin – exactly like the dream.

Cream halter-top, light blue denim miniskirt – like the dream.

White tennis shoes – dream.

Really nice hands – they looked dainty. Her fingers were...tapering I guess you could say, and her nails were beautiful. And:

She was HOT. Just. Like. My. Effin'. Dream.


I was putting her details into the lay-by databank and made the usual jokes I make with new customers despite all of the above crazy dream-lover-girl thoughts rushing through my brain. There were a few moments of incoherence (you understand I was very very preoccupied with this turn of events) and she picked these up and blushed at them, but didn't shy. She was very forward once I'd warmed into it.

So I did the usual small-talk and jokes – 'had a good weekend despite all the bloody rain. I washed my car yesterday and it was all clean and beautiful and I come to work and it starts raining and now I'm gonna have streaks,' 'is there anything else I can help you with' (repeat three times in two minutes around the totalling on the register to which I then continue to '...buuuut I've already asked that like a billion times, sorry!' and then the time old classic 'see ya later, have a good weekend...or, you know at least whatever's left of it!' It is a Sunday after all. That last one always gets a laugh, or at least a smile and a nod. I made a couple of others and she responded really well. I felt rather charming, if I do say so myself. There was this troll with her (bad kharma saying troll ah well. She was.) who Casey/dream-girl/Blonde girl called Megan. Ick. That girl gave me the heebie-jeebies. LOL. Don't you love that phrase. I haven't used it since I was reeeeeally really little. In fact I think it was mum who used it.

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