Maybe we could save each other (2)

Where was I? Oh yes, last night (Saturday) I went over to Emer’s house around the corner because we were going to go out for a drink. A quiet drink provoked mainly by curiousity as to how the suburb gets drunk in 2002. I hadn’t been out here in over a year, neither had she really. I rung her doorbell and almost immediately there she was. Holding open the door. And completely pissed.

She had to go wash her hair, so she told me to help myself to some wine. “I’ve just had a bottle” she said, laughing like a little kid who just peed in the garden. They had a nice garden, not at all like ours or indeed many on the estate. The house was messy, but in a way that was more the result of a child’s presence than anything else. Or else they’re just really busy. Emer opened a bottle and poured me a glass. I sat down in front of the election coverage while she got ready to go out.

Half an hour later, she was back. She saw my empty glass and asked if I wanted a refill. She wasn’t so tipsy now, which was good. But…..um…..it appeared I had drunk an entire bottle of wine. She stood in shock, mainly because it had only been half an hour and she hadn’t really drunk a bottle of wine since she still had a glass left. So the tables were turned. Joe was the drunk (I had a calming can of Heineken before I went over) and Emer was the not-so-drunk-and-rather-coherent-and-interesting…..person. *Hic*

On the way down to the village, we got talking about this writing thing I gave up when I lieft the journalism course. She asked me did I still write. So I said……..yes. Where? Oh dear. Guess what I said? Fucking hell, I’m always doing this. I told her I write an internet diary. She asked if people read it. Yes. Was she in it? Yes, but with a fake name. How long have I been doing it? Two years. Oh, and it’s great to have total strangers comment on your life and give you advice based on your (obviously biased) evaluation of your day/week/month/year/country/other half/toenails. This really freaked her out, I don’t know why but she found the whole idea of strangers reading about your life rather odd. I said it was entirely honest, I’ve never explictly mentioned where I’m from, what my surname is, what my family’s names are, what my social security number is; nothing. I just put the unidentifiable generic assortion of crap in my life up here. I didn’t tell her what the site was called or how to find my diary, but I have this thing in my head that if I feel close to someone, I tell them about my diary. I don’t want them to read it. I’m a bit like a flasher really, I want to show people it’s there but that’s as far as it goes.