It’s been a while. But that does not mean that Rachel and Lauren (we?) have not been thinking about you. They’ve (we’ve?) been working on fall programming for all you lucky subscribers.
So here we go: The reclusive writer Janice Leak has agreed to submit the first and possibly last installment of her new column, The Conversation Diaries.
Everyone has sex these days, or tries to. But is anyone having conversations anymore (or trying to)? Ms. Leak has taken it upon herself to record the various chats that litter and light up her anonymous subjects’ lives.
The Magazine Writer Who Wants To Get Into It, Just Once
In this week’s story, a newly single woman makes a series of plans with a series of men: 37, Chicago. As told to Janice Leak.
DAY ONE
7 a.m. On the way to work I stop at Deedee’s Finer Diner for coffee. Jocko, who is probably 80, compliments me on how I look. “Thanks,” I say. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” He chuckles. I work for a local magazine and I am also writing an essay collction about Hitchcock. I’m also processing my recent breakup from my ex, whom I’ll call “Bill.” We had great conversations for a while but then he started talking more to other people. I know I’m better off without him. But I miss him.
9:45 a.m. As I get to the otffice I get a text from the Painter. We spent the last month having good, casual, regular conversations before he had to go back to Halifax.
1 p.m. I’m pretending to work but outlining a piece about visual tension in Shadow of a Doubt. I’m also Slacking with my editor. The messages are about scheduling mostly. I fantasize about having a real conversation.
3 p.m. I nail down some evening plans with a friend of mine who is a publicist. When we go out she is always telling me about the great conversations she has had. I am envious but I pretend not to be and give her lots of “You go, girl” energy.
6 p.m. Yoga up in Evanston. Afterward I text the Editor confirming our conversation tomorrow.
DAY TWO
10 a.m. Arrive at the office. “Howdy,” I say to The Cubicle Twins, who don’t answer. They’re always like this. What’s the matter with me? Did I wear the wrong thing? Does my hair look crazy? One of them squints at her monitor and says “hi.”
11 a.m. Irma walks by and slows down as she passes my desk. “Hi,” I say. She says “hi” back and then “What did you do with your weekend?” which I greatly appreciate. Nobody has asked me a question this week. I start telling her about the essay collection. “Nice,” she says, and keeps going.
Noon: Lunch at my desk. Tofu in Tupperware. I fantasize about the conversation with the Editor. I sense that Elaine is looking over at me and I blush.
12:10 p.m. The Editor texts me. “I’m in back-to-back meetings. Can we touch base tomorrow?” it says. I put my phone face-down on my desk.
1 p.m. There’s another reporter here named Bob. Bob is on the phone now, super-loud. He texts me during his call. He wants to meet in the afternoon in the cafeteria. I can never say no to him.
3 p.m. Coffee with Bob is nice. We have friends in common and talk about them for a few minutes. He asks me about the book I’m writing and when I answer by telling him my new theory about James Stewart, injury, and impotence in Rear Window and Vertigo, he doesn’t flinch or hold his temples in disgust. Afterwards we take the elevator back up and talk some more. He’s thinking of buying a friend’s Vespa.
DAY THREE
10:15 a.m I got to the office a little late. Lazy in my brain today. I’m always like that after I have a good conversation. The Cubicle Twins are talking to each other. Normally that would bother me. Today it bothers me.
12:30 p.m A text from the Painter. He is telling me the weather is good. “It’s good here too,” I write back.
3 p.m. The Editor finally comes around. I knock over a coffee cup hurrying to stand. “Oh,” the Editor says, glancing at his watch. “I thought today but maybe tomorrow is better.” I feel a pit in my stomach. I wish I had a nice watch.
4:30 p.m. Irma swings by. “I was telling someone that you are Mexican,” she says. I am not, so I am surprised by this. When I clarify this for Irma, she frowns. She does not seem to find my Manitoba provenance thrilling.
DAY FOUR
11 a.m. Morning off from work for a doctor’s appointment. I swing by Deedee’s, talk to Jocko for a few minutes, and then go to the doctor. I use the time in the waiting room to talk to an older woman who tells me that I look like her niece. She lowers her voice to a whisper and tells me that she once had a great conversation on a roof.
Noon: I get to work. Bob is in the lobby and tells me that he caught the last few minutes of Industry on TV last night. Am I blushing?
1 p.m. I hear the Editor in his office talking on the phone to someone else. He is laughing and I hear long pauses, like when someone is listening. I get a text from Bob. “Coffee?” it says. I don’t respond.
3 p.m. Get a Slack from the Editor about scheduling a meeting for next month. I screenshot it and send it to my publicist friend. “This is the beginning of a great conversation,” she texts back, sarcastically. Somehow I feel like it’ll never happen. Ugh.
8 p.m. Write more of my book and drink Lemon Zinger in bed thinking about some combination of Bob and the Editor. The moon outside looks full and I hear birds, even though after a little while I realize it’s recorded and coming from an apartment nearby. The Painter texts. “Want to talk about music?” he says. I consider it but instead I have a little conversation with myself. When I am done chatting with myself I feel pleasantly sleepy. Maybe all is not lost.
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*If you liked this post, please order our book, The Memo, which has been called “brilliant and lowbrow” by New York Magazine.
I assume this is meant to be a dead-on parody of NY mag's Sex Diaries? Perfection! Kudos! Let's chat.