Jonesgirl’s Weblog

In the tortured words of Sinead O’Connor….. “It’s been seven hours and fifteen days since you took your love away. I go out every day and sleep all day. Since you’ve been gone I can do whatever I want. I can see whoever I choose. I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant. But nothing can take away these blues because nothing compares to you…”

And although it’s now officially 15 hours and 7 minutes, I find myself alone whilst my loved one trips interstate on business. I have spent the day pondering just what I will do with the next five precious days. There are secret things you can only do when you’re alone.

I’m wearing my favourite pink hat and dark-rimmed woody allenesque glasses, just because I can and no one, besides my cat, will laugh at me. I’m considering overplucking my eyebrows. I’m resurrecting my secret collection of foot files and after a steaming hot bath, filing off six layers of skin in an attempt to revive my tortured heel-hugging tootsies. I’m toying with the idea of homewaxing as an economically viable alternative to trusting beauty professionals with my pesky hair-infested private parts. I’m considering getting a jump on summer with a spray-on tan, but the with current weather conditions prone to affect drying times and the instructions on the back of the can, sketchy at best and downright interpretive at worst, I’m letting common sense prevail here.

I’m wandering around the house, talking aloud for no particular reason. After reading that Molly Meldrum found it perfectly normal to spend quality time with his invisble friend, I am considering renewing my relationship with “Stargirl” and “Starboy”, whom admittedly I haven’t heard from since I was four years old. I’m rifling through the CD collection looking for the Cranberries, but secretly hoping to stumble across Bon Jovi (circa 1988). I’m going to borrow my best friend’s copy of Dirty Dancing and sob relentlessly throughout Patrick Swayze singing “She’s Like the Wind”. I do believe I am the only human being, living or dead, that understands the depth of that man’s talents. I’m flipping through my wardrobe and trying on all the red things. I’m being obsessively tidy,  in direct contrast to my usual “devil may care where it falls” attitude. I’m listening to “Love Songs & Dedications” and thinking about how much I miss my boy.

I know that with true freedom, comes responsibility. I alone will have to clean the kitty litter, a harrowing chore at the best of times. In my attempts to retrieve the mail, I will wage a daily vendetta against a troublesome letterbox lock and I will try really hard to not burn down the house by forgetting to turn my hair straightener off. Just to be sure, I’m making the cat wear a miniature sandwich board with the words “Please don’t burn the house down”.

This single life may not be all it is cracked up to be.