i.e. my sister and I went to Sydney for the weekend in celebration of her birthday.
When she ordered books she gave one name, when she ordered food she gave another. She gave a different name again when meeting friends, and had another reserved for family. There was one she used only for book clubs, but many for when she went dancing. And one or two, slotted between, which she gave only to police.
She always paid cash; she possessed no credit card.
It was not easy to keep track of so many identities, but she managed. She did not see that she had a choice.
The list grew longer and longer, like a scroll in her head, and on her deathbed there was great confusion as everyone remembered somebody different, somebody more like themselves.
I would like to spend more time studying drunken dialogue but the problem is, in these situations where there is drunken dialogue to be witnessed, I myself am always too drunk to study it soberly and with the necessary detachment.
When I came home from work one afternoon, I discovered my aunt had turned into a carnivorous plant. Finish the story here.
This piece first appeared at Quart Short Literary Reading Nights in Adelaide, and was also performed at Salon REaD, an emerging literary salon in Brisbane (photos of the latter below).
What I’ve been seeing; what I’ve been hearing.
Another Lynda Barry ‘Syllabus’ inspired cartoon: a record of one day.
(Obviously I am not very good at shaving.)