Planet Janet (5 page)

I don’t see how I can go another day without a phone. It’s like having a limb amputated. I can still feel it pressed against my cheek. I can still see the special purple case I bought for it. I can still hear its distinctive call (some Beatles song). I reach out for it and it isn’t there. My fingers touch the air and I wonder why. Why? Why has this happened to me? (I reckon I must be learning an important life lesson in loss – you know, that NOTHING lasts for ever – but I still wish I could’ve lost something else. Like Justin, for instance.) D says maybe I should’ve checked lost property, but everybody knows that anything good that gets lost gets nicked, so why bother? Now I have nothing to do when I’m waiting for buses or walking down the street on my own. It’s SO BORING! And also it’s torture.

Since I can’t just lie on my bed and talk to Disha, I was going to watch some telly to relax before I started my homework, but Nan turned up. I was just about to open the living-room door when I heard her say, “Ask yourself what Jesus would do in this situation, Jocelyn.” God knows what they’re on about now, but I should think it would be hard even for Jesus to be in the place of a menopausal madwoman. I beat a hasty retreat.

THIS IS TOO MUCH!!! You want to know how TOTALLY INSANE the Mad Cow’s getting? Now she’s going through the rubbish. REALLY!!! I asked her if she’s planning to become a bag lady when she finally retires from making my life hell, and she said she was actually thinking of joining MI5. She said she was looking for evidence of Sigmund still being a closet nicotine addict. You’d think she’d remember from last time that he always sneaks the rubbish from the Bunker into someone else’s bin so we can’t accidentally find his butts. Anyway, she went through the rubbish and she found the boots. She went BALLISTIC! I mean, they’re only BOOTS. They can be replaced. If you ask me, she’s way too materialistic. She should try nurturing her spiritual side a bit more.

Sigmund was banging on about work, as per usual, while the rest of us were trying to eat our supper. I wasn’t really listening (I mean, who
does
?), but I heard him say something about matrophobia. I hate to ask Sigmund questions (because he always gives such v long answers that by the time he’s finished you don’t have a clue what you actually asked in the first place), but the Dark Phase is one of intellectual curiosity, so I risked it. Sigmund said matrophobia is when you’re afraid of turning into your own mother. Justin spoke one of his first full sentences of the new year then. He asked Sigmund what it would be called if he was afraid of
Sigmund
turning into
Nan
. Everybody laughed except me. I was practically turned to stone. It never even occurred to me before that such a thing could happen. I know I worry about becoming as
shallow and pointless
as the rest of my family, but it never occurred to me that I could actually turn into MY MOTHER. I asked Sigmund if that sort of thing was very common, and he said it was much more common to turn into your own mother than to be afraid of it. I couldn’t believe it! Me, turn into the Mad Cow?!! I’d have to kill myself! I mean, really, what other option would I have? Now I’m feeling
Deeply Depressed
. All the years they make you go to school to memorize a bunch of crap that you immediately forget, but nobody ever tells you anything REALLY IMPORTANT. It doesn’t seem fair. Are we mushrooms that have to be kept in the dark?

D agrees that no one ever tells you anything REALLY IMPORTANT or even worth knowing. She says the more she finds out in the DP, the more she realizes that it’s practically a miracle that EVERYBODY isn’t depressed. TOO TRUE! It almost makes you admire people like my parents, who manage to exist on such a superficial level that the Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune miss them entirely. But can you truly experience REAL joy or meaning by floating on the surface of the Lake of Life and never diving down to the depths? Disha and I don’t think so.

There is a God! There really is! And He’s ON MY SIDE!!! Sigmund caught Justin getting ready to take a picture of him while he was peeing (Sigmund, not Justin) and he went BERSERK!!! You’d never believe Sigmund makes his living being reasonable in this dead calm way if you’d seen him waving the roll of film about. He would’ve had the camera too, but the Mad Cow snatched it away just in time. I think she thought it was funny, because she left the room v quickly after that. I thought it was hilarious. Sigmund got so worked up that he got one of his migraines and had to go to bed.

Thursday nights I usually mind Mrs Kennedy’s twins, Shane and Shaun, while she goes to her computer class and then out for a drink with her mates, but tonight she rang to say she had a cold and wasn’t going out after all. Mrs Kennedy is in two of Sigmund’s groups (the wives of men in prison support group and the low self-esteem group), and now, under the guidance of a man who can never find his car keys, she’s getting her life together. At four quid an hour she can get everyone’s life together for all I care. Not that the twins are easy. They aren’t manic like Jupiter, but there are TWO of them. God knows I could use the money (getting money out of Sigmund or the Mad Cow is harder than putting your eye make-up on in the dark), but I could also really use the break from them. Children definitely don’t fit into the DP. From what I can tell, most of the Great Writers and Artists didn’t have that much to do with children – if anything. Not even the women. D agrees. She says Shakespeare had the twins and all, but she doesn’t think he took them every other weekend or anything like that. On the other hand, the MC doesn’t like Mrs Kennedy, so me going over there usually winds her up (one has to snatch bits of happiness where one can in this life!). The MC says she doesn’t like Mrs Kennedy because she shows right-wing racist tendencies (she votes Tory and once asked the MC what her ethnic background is), but I reckon it’s really because Mrs Kennedy’s v attractive in an
Eastenders
sort of way and the MC (being about as attractive as bog roll) resents her. It’s a pretty common syndrome.

Disha and I had another long talk about MEN AND LOVE this afternoon. Should I go after David? Should I go after Flynn? Should I go after Marcus? It’s a big decision to make. Marcus is a v good artist, which gives us a
Spiritual Connection
, but he’s got a v square face and only one eyebrow and isn’t as good-looking as David or Flynn. David is not only v attractive and in possession of serious muscle definition, he’s also a musician (I know the drums aren’t exactly the violin, but it still counts). Musicians have an intensity that I respond well to. Flynn’s skinny but v sexy (D and I agree it’s his eyes – his lashes are longer than mine when I’m wearing lash-lengthening mascara), and though he isn’t a painter or a musician he is v literary. (One time when we were all at his and excruciatingly bored we played his parents’ Trivial Pursuit and Flynn was incredible! Even Disha was impressed, and you already know how much she reads!) But he did start a food fight at Lila Jenkins’s Hallowe’en party, which was v juvenile, even though he did get Catriona Hendley smack in the face with a handful of jelly, which was pretty hilarious and ruined her hair! Sometimes I think that if I could put them all together I’d have the perfect man. After all, if you do end up having sex with someone you get to be on pretty intimate terms with his penis, don’t you? I don’t think I’d be able to be on intimate terms with the penis of someone less than close to perfect. And also I do worry that there’s no real
Frisson
, as the French (who seem to know a lot about
Passion and Romance
) would say. There’s no real chemistry, no explosion of
Souls
. On the other hand, a little practice might not hurt. Maybe passion’s something you have to work up to. As Disha says, you don’t jump into the deep end of the pool the first time you try to swim, do you?

GOD LOVES ME! He really does. Or maybe my karma’s better than I thought, because wait till you hear what happened tonight. The whole lot of them evacuated the premises after supper. Together! I think they were going to some exhibition at Justin’s college. The parents were pretty presentable looking, but Justin is NEVER presentable looking; he always looks like he lives on the streets. The Mad Cow asked me if I was coming and I sighed and told her I had too much homework this weekend (which is pretty much true). Having the flat to myself is about as rare as seeing a flock of pigs flying over north London, so I decided to take advantage of this unexpected opportunity and as soon as they left I had a look for the Mad Cow’s mobe. (Sigmund did all his Christmas shopping in one shop this year – he even got a mobile for Nan with large numbers so she can see them that plays “Amazing Grace”.) I finally found it in her desk, looking pathetically untouched. She never uses it, so she’ll also never know it’s gone.

Read another page of
The Outsider
(to be honest, it’s not exactly what I thought it would be from the title), TWO poems by this French guy Ms Staples recommended and the introduction to my yoga book tonight. The Dark Phase is going REALLY well. I almost can’t remember what it’s like to be a child any more.

Disha just rang. We had a v interesting conversation. D wanted to know if I remembered her brother’s friend, Elvin. (Disha’s brother, Calum, is younger than Justin – he’s in the sixth form at our school – but he’s about two million years on in evolutionary terms. For one thing, he can speak.) Disha says I’ve seen Elvin a couple of times. He’s the one Calum met on the special film course he’s taking. I said, “Blond?” Disha said no, he’s the one with the longish black hair who wears cowboy boots. I said, “Oh, HIM!” Anyway, Disha was alone in the kitchen with Elvin just now, and he was asking about ME! Elvin’s a naff name, but Disha and I agreed that he’s pretty good-looking. ALSO he wears black turtlenecks and his hair is just long enough to make him look like a beat poet. (We discovered the beat poets when one of them died and Ms Staples told us how they were an intellectual movement and everything. Ms Staples says they were pissed off with the system and the middle-class lifestyle long before the punks – True Artists always are.) Disha says Elvin’s at film school and he’s already won a prize for some film he made about cats (at least Disha
thinks
it’s about cats; she isn’t TOTALLY certain). A film-maker is v cool – sort of a combination between an artist and a writer. I reckon I didn’t really notice Elvin before because he’s older. I know lots of girls like older men. (One of the maths teachers left over Christmas to fulfil her biological destiny and has been replaced by Mr Plaget, who looks young enough to be a sixth-former except GORGEOUS, and you wouldn’t believe how many girls who can’t add up without a calculator are talking about doing A level maths!!!) I, however, don’t see the attraction. Older men make me sort of nervous. I think you have to suspect their motives. (I mean, why can’t they get a woman their own age? Is there something wrong with them? Are they afraid of being with an equal? Do they think a younger girl would be easier to push around?) Elvin’s different though (he’s not
that
old – in fact he’s probably the same age as Justin, but MUCH more mature). Disha and I agree that this is v exciting.

On a more mundane note, Sara Dancer’s having second thoughts about DOING IT. She was talking to some girl who started having sex the day before she turned fifteen, and this girl reckons Sara should hold out for a bed as well as a real boyfriend. The first time this girl did it was in a garden shed (she had a rake handle in her back the whole time, but it was over pretty fast so it wasn’t too bad). She says she’s never done it without her clothes on or lying down – unless you count the back seat of her boyfriend’s father’s car, which none of us do. Sara says it doesn’t sound much like in films. And I said it was just what I was always saying, wasn’t it? Where’s the
Romance
? Where’s the
Passion
? Where’s the overwhelming desire to merge your
Soul
(and a couple of body parts) with another?

Mentioned to Flynn at lunch that I’m reading
The Outsider
. He was impressed. He said he admires Camus’s clarity of intellect, philosophical optimism and hopeful love of life. This doesn’t sound much like the book I’m reading, but I said I did too. I reckon the optimism and hope must come after page three.

The yoga isn’t as easy as it looks on the cover. I’m sure some of the positions are only possible if your bones are made of plasticine or you’re double-jointed or something. I was trying to do the Chakrasana (the Wheel to the layperson) because it says in the book that it strengthens your thigh and stomach muscles (I reckon it beats going on another diet). I got into it OK, but then I got sort of stuck. It was either call for help or crash. I made the wrong choice. I screamed and Justin raced in, but of course he wasn’t alone. He had his stupid camera with him. He snapped me just as I fell. He’d better hide that bloody thing, because if I get my hands on it I’m throwing it into the loo.

The MC’s been in a FOUL mood for days. Nag nag nag … snap snap snap… This is much worse than her PMT. According to Willow, the planet Saturn’s doing something awful in the Mad Cow’s House, and that’s why she’s marching around like
Darth Vader
on a bad day. So I stayed with the child Jupiter and the dog Mars while Willow gave the MC a healing massage, though if you ask me it’ll take a lot more than a back rub to cure the old witch. When I got back to ours, the flat stunk from the aromatherapy oils. I could taste lavender in the pasta. The Mad Cow said it was my imagination. Yeah, right.

IT HAS TO BE TOLD!

Five Reasons Why I Hate Catriona Hendley:

(1) She’s ALWAYS had a big head because her mother writes for
The Guardian
and her father is some excruciatingly ginormous big deal at Channel Four.