31st December 1999.
If destiny just happens regardless, then who am I to argue. You know how it is. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy, right place, right time, little sprinkling of cosmic love dust and that is it. Or is it?
You see, lately I've been thinking that there is an equally powerful force shaping our lives. Don't ask me how I came to this conclusion. I'd like to think it's wisdom, but maybe it's the dawning realisation of my twenty-eight years that makes me feel that the arrow is pointing dangerously at me. No more hiding from the truth. Yes, we are also the authors of our own destiny. Bit frightening to think we are responsible for all the shit. Getting a minor panic attack if my chequered past is included in this. Jesus wept I need to breath deeply and swallow a double vodka. All this deep thought needs to be sieved.
Ah. That’s better. I can now afford to become more philosophical. You see on the one hand we have romance and surprise, and on the other hand we have realism and forward planning. Now to be entirely successful with my grand cosmic plan for the Millennium I have decided to adopt the just-in-case insurance mentality, yet another sign of my advancing years. I can oscillate between both camps God granting me the wisdom to decipher the signs and to know the difference. I want destiny to knock on my door but I also want to be in the driving seat. I want to hunt and I want to be hunted. I want to choose and I want to be chosen. I want Love at first sight. I want passion, infatuation, and lust. Well, maybe delete the lust. Replace with True Love. This will fit in nicely with my new image.
I have decided to completely reinvent myself for the Millennium. After a decade of debauchery, lust and one-night stands I am about to become a B. A. V.----A born again virgin. I came to this sobering decision on New Years Eve. With Yuletide fervour, and millennium madness I happened to fornicate with the town stud. Put it this way he was the best of a bad lot. His face was a bit perpendicular for my liking but beer goggles told me otherwise. He told me I had amazing breasts and legs to die for. Now flattery with alcohol is my instant aphrodisiac. Gravity sucks me vertical forcing me to sacrifice my body to the one who whispers ‘’Anna, you are beautiful’ I know that in the next ten minutes I will feel desired and valued. I was born for loving. It is my identity bracelet confirming my value and true worth. I would have liked to have laid down on a bed of roses but tonight I improvised on a sea of winter coats, buttons and zips… adding pain to pleasure. When Jack brushed up against my thigh I needed no further persuasion. Lust lifted me up to where I truly belonged. Temporary release from reality. I wanted to stay up there for always. I open my eyes to see Jack stepping into his jeans while asking if we could meet again. Passion may be spent but he obviously wanted more of me, maybe get to know me a bit better. Could he really like me and not just my body? Eureka!! Was the New Year inverting my usual wham bang thank you mam formula? Thank you God for taking an interest.
How was I to know he was unable to stay not only monogamous but heterosexual for more than twenty minutes.. Some time later as I went upstairs to the loo I found Jack, my ex shag sharing a bath with guess who? Gary the hairdresser (and there wasn’t even bubbles - only self-made ones). Which makes me what? The greatest loser and eegit this side of the Atlantic. I never felt so humiliated Even alcohol couldn’t obliterate my shame. My future redemption would rest on some major and urgent personal D.I.Y. Well if Saint Paul on his way to Damascus could change then so could Anna.. I so needed to remedy my sad sick life and pronto. Nothing beats the euphoric rush of catharsis. It crystallises one to the past, immunises one to the present and breathes promise onto future possibilities. It made me feel I could be anything I wanted to be, do anything I wanted to do. The future suddenly became virginal and pure. I was given the power to write not just with integrity but vision … vision of a new life and a new me. Change was my only passport to happiness ….there was no other option if I wanted to climb the stairway to my kind of heaven heaven.
I hate to admit it that my mother is right but she is. Just on this point. Her views surely reflect the female wisdom and cunning of previous ages. My mother’s favourite rant of "All Men love a Whore but they never marry them.’’ has been in the top ten in our house for aeons. Her daughter’s attempts to impart sexual liberation have been met with an even greater contraction, thus crystallising her theories in stone. But is she right? Am I wrong? Men have loved me but I have never once received a proposal of marriage (apart from Eamonn with the I.Q. of an amoeba). Nor have I been asked to move in with them. Of course I have the occasional sleepover with a thank you very much I 'll call you later. You know what? They never do. Or I may have the illicit weekend away while the wife does her Feng-Shui course. I am reasonably good looking. I am not a leper and I can assure you I am no common whore. I do not get paid for it. I just happen to like Sex on the first date. I have sinned against my mother and all my maternal ancestors and for that I am truly sorry.
So now with the dawning of the new Millennium, Age of Aquarius and all that, I plan to become a role model for the future generations to come, a pioneer to lead the way. I WANT IT ALL. For this to happen I must become the NEW WOMAN....
1st January 2000 11:01 a.m.
My head hurts. My throat feels dry. I need water to wash away any past transgressions and of course to avoid cellular dehydration. I want to die and it's only the first day of the New Year, new century and new millennium. It's all so new and I'M NOT. My pontificating of the previous night haunts my shrinking brain cells. Did I mean what I said? What did I say? And more so what did I mean? I look in the mirror and see a jaded me staring back - hair matted together with an array of tinsel and what feels like some sort of lubricant - not that I need lubricant, at least not yet - the youthful juices have never yet left me down T. G. My big beautiful green eyes now look as though they have been surgically reduced, resembling pools of congealed blood. I would receive an Oscar for "Queen of the Damned". I want this image to be forever engraved in my mind.
Aversion therapy. I know I've got to change. The alternative is actually the preventative. Alternative choice - I could go along my merry path, drunk as a skunk every weekend and every birthday, anniversary and celebration and funeral that I stumbled upon. (I welcomed country wakes where drink is actively encouraged as a means of expressing your grief. I could wail and bawl with the best of them while not even recognising the corpse). My ovarian luck would be bound to run out soon (no more unfertilised eggs in the morning after the night before). Where would I be? I would be nursing a sprog with no Dad and no definitive DNA. Pictures of me destitute stuck in a damp bed-sit over Chinese Take-Away breast-feeding because I needed the formula money to heat the place swam before my eyes. Before I press the delete button on this image let me assure you this could have happened many times. Example - There was Samba the D. J. and Clarence the Bouncer all in the one night - a one night stand is socially acceptable but there I was killing four stones with me being the one BIRD. I could have birthed twin gargoyles. Perish the thought.
So today is the first day of the rest of my life. The past is the passe compose, and the future is mine to create. I need a course of action.
I want R. E. S. P. E. C. T. A little bit of worship and adoration would also be appreciated.
I want a HUSBAND—a fertiliser for my impatient eggs.
I want all of the above this year.
© 2000 Nell Sullivan