250th and 251st email

From: Stacey Marchenkova  
To: dom borax
Sent: Tuesday October 6th , 1999 10:11AM
Subject:  RE RE RE Change of topic

Dom, you win…you’ll always win…you are winner…they lose…they will lose you…and that’s the world’s biggest loss…

I love you…so much…

I hold you in my arms….

I say there-there…

I mop your forehead…

I lift your arm in victory, champ…

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax
Sent: Tuesday October 6th , 1999 11:01AM
Subject:  RE RE RE RE Change of topic

And again I am so sorry about the Tintin comment… I can't seem to get anything right at the moment…I’m  saying sorry so often lately…I hope it isn’t losing it’s power…or meaning..or whatever…anyway…I know it’s fucktard Marcus that likes Tintin...I know that…but I like Tintin too…but whatever…I screwed it…truthfully…and there is no excuse…excuse…except…how about I go into Marcus’s house and destroy everything Tintin related?  Or how about I offer a list of things for me to do to encourage your sympathy…I mean you always do that…you always list… and it works for you… so

1: I sell all my things for a one way ticket to LA to see you.

Okay…that’s all I’ve got…never very good at lists… what do you think?

Love

Stacey

211th - 216th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 00:14 AM
Subject: A new day?

Okay I’ve just finished Dracula…not sure why I chose to finish that book tonight…as now I’m a little worried and think that the Count has taken you…maybe I should have finished Confederacy of Dunces instead…been trying to finish it for six months…but Bram Stoker won out in the end…

It’s funny how I do that…I never read one book at a time…I’m always reading five or six books at a time…it’s not that I don’t like them…I just want some kind of variety or something…it’s like channel surfing with lit’…and there’s always one that emerges anyway…and Dracula was that tonight…have you read it? It’s really good…I was so caught up in the other retellings of the story that I had no idea the book was so good…no one’s really made a decent film out of it…and if folk aren’t reading the book because they think they know the story already…think again, folk…you’re wrong…pick it up today and read it immediately….

Now I’m raving…can’t sleep at the best of times…and with you…out there…after Elsa said that stuff at the party…so publicly…with your friend…I keep hearing her words when she announced it – I can’t get it out of my head;

“At least he doesn’t make me feel like an idiot”

And then you told her… and she hit you… and it all feels like an afternoon American soap opera…

At least Marcus doesn’t know…

…should I tell him…?







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 03:11 AM
Subject: it’s so quiet

Don’t you love the wee small hours? It’s so quiet like you could be the last person left on earth…I’d love to be the last person left on earth…or at least the last gaggle of folk…I think that’s why I like the lighthouse doctor who episode so much…it’s like they’re the last people left on earth…actually not really…but as a kid…I fantasized about living on a lighthouse…just me… some supplies… a dog... and a healthy dose of mist…

I think I’m a little tired…







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 06:59 AM
Subject: dawn

The sun is rising…haven’t slept…gone a little mad and eaten all the salty snacks in the house…I tried to sleep but couldn’t…I wanted to be here in case you called…I hope you’re okay…I’m okay…I’m wearing felt-soft terry toweling clothes…toasty warm with dinosaur slippers…sorry they where a gift from my mother…but they do growl when I walk and as much as it shouldn’t - I’m still amused by them…

I also drove around for a few hours last night…I love driving at night…no one around…just me…I have no direction, I turn when I want to turn and stop when I want to stop…I drove past your house…but the lights were off…I think I saw Crisps car…anyway I ended up by the river…I always end up by the river…north where they still have that old wooden crossing-barge-like-thing…not sure what they call them…anyway ended up there…cranked up the stereo and listened to the News….god I love singing along to the news…

“Everybody now… hundreds dead in a Chinese Mud slide… He-di-hee...hi-di-ha...”

Okay that’s just poor taste…the garbage trucks are now in the street….men with fat voices yelling over the loud mechanics…clash of tin and metal and the stink of rotten food and lavender bin liners…okay now I am truly raving…I might put my head down…







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 7:21AM
Subject: Maybe you’re at work…

Maybe you’ll be at work (kinda just wrote that twice – once in the subject and now in message line itself…fuck, Stacey…why are you rationalizing and telling him everything…whatever…just thought you might be at work…you start at 9:00, hey? Okay, I’m going to try you at work…

I wonder if Oftenbark knows where you are…







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: oftenbark < mailto:ofentbark@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 07:37 AM
Subject: Where’s Dom?

Oftenbark, do you know where Dom is? Give him a lick for me if you see him...

(Sorry that sounds wrong)

I’m going to sleep now…good boy…good girl…good us…







From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Monday August 5th, 1999 7:59AM
Subject: Maybe you’re at work…

Okay, I think I’ve worked it out…you must be plotting revenge…I’d be plotting revenge…after what she said…what they did…I mean, I know we’re not that much better…but we didn’t rub their faces in it…but…

God is that better…? Are we better? Are we the same? I think we’re the same…maybe sneakier…maybe we’re worse…it’s all so complicated…

I don’t know…

Actually I do know…

I know telling everyone at the party that she was seeing your best friend is wrong… I know she was drunk…but still and all…why would you stand there and tell you that was she cheating…and then to hit you…man those dancers can choreograph a great beating…I don’t know if you saw Crisps face (stupid name by and by) but he was ashen, wan and washen…

I mean what a way to clean out a party…

...and just to be clear…this wasn’t your fault…you didn’t make her do it…you didn’t turn her to him…you didn’t make her hit you…I know we are the same…but she didn’t know…not then--

I think I heard you at the front door?

Is that you…I think I hear oftenbark…

Sending this anyway

209th and 210th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Sunday August 4th, 1999 20:31PM
Subject: I’m going mad

It’s a few hours now and I still haven’t heard…I did try to give you a call…but it just rang out…where are you? Maybe you’ve moved out instead…god if you’ve moved out…how will I contact you…maybe you’re under a bus…or hit by a train…or beaten up by wayward men…or Elsa and Crisps have cut you into little pieces pickled you, stuck you in larder…never to eat you…looking at regifting you…

oh God…maybe you’ve done a runner…maybe you’re in Prison…maybe you’ve killed Crisps …maybe you’re not real…and I’ve been emailing myself over the last few months…

I’ve gone mad!!!

Okay Stacey, breath, breath…this isn’t about you…it’s about Dom…okay, refocusing now…looking back toward you… and I’m going to read and wait for you…I hope you’re okay…

Maybe you’re at the Hitlon…




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Sunday August 4th, 1999 21:11 PM
Subject: Not at the Hitlon

Okay so you’re not at the Hitlon…felt like an idiot ringing there…but you never know…I’d hate you to spend a night alone in a King Sized bed…

...god... I’m a whore…what’s wrong with me…I’m sure that’s the last thing you’re thinking of…anyway…I feel so hopeless…I’ll wait a little longer…

208th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Sunday August 4th, 1999 15:01 PM
Subject: Stalking now

Okay I couldn’t wait an hour… and I’m still not ringing…please email me back and let me know you’re okay…I just feel awful ringing if Elsa’s still there…man...

...I feel awful if Crisps (dickhead) is there too...

...I can’t handle this…I so want to be there for you…I feel useless...

...Marcus is ringing but I’m not picking up…I know he just wants to gossip about it…arsehole…I mean he’s not an arsehole…he doesn’t know all the details…

...but still and all…what if I came over…? Okay I can’t come over…that’s crazy…email me…please…

194th and 195th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova mailto:kookolka@powerup.com
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 22:04 PM
Subject: RSVP

Hi dom…I’ll be there…I’ve also checked with Marcus…he’ll be there too… really looking forward to it…


S

PS If it helps you'll always be blind in my heart :)



From: Stacey Marchenkova mailto:stacey_marchenko@hotmail.com
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 23:14 PM
Subject: bad

Okay so you got the proper email reply for the party, right…

Well here’s my private one:

We are so bad, Mr Borax
Really, really bad…

I can’t believe it…
I am shocked at my behaviour…

See, I never thought I’d be one of those people…those bad, shocking people…
And here’s the thing…

I’m liking it…

I am so liking it…loving it even

And I’m so scared that I’m liking it…you know…

And I feel oddly thrilled you slept with elsa too…that’s weird, right…I thought I’d get jealous…but now…right now…I feel…hot…

Maybe I’m a pervert or a slut…god…that’s it…I’m a big fat old slut…

I am one of those girls… a bit of musk, a short skirt and a flushed cheek…
Fuck, I want to shag in you public…

…miss you so much tonight…

189th email - 192nd email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 17:21 PM
Subject: RE RE Close Shave?

Do you really want me to tell you I fucked Marcus that night? You’re a strange one, Dom Borax.


S

PS No I didn’t fuck Marcus. But did you fuck Elsa that night?




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 17:27 PM
Subject: RE RE RE Close Shave?

PPS And Yes we’ll come to your party…but only if our feet can find a quite place to snog at some point.




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 17:28 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE Close Shave?

PPPS And what you doing tomorrow? I can pick you up from the Uni bookshop, during your work lunch and we can shag in the car park…




From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 20:AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE Close shave

Deal. I’ll be the lady of the night standing on the corner in ripped tights.

I don’t come cheap.


Dxx

PS And are you a cop? You have to tell the truth when asked or it’s entrapment. (I think that’s the word)

PPS Yes, Elsa and I did shag that night. Sorry.

188th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 11:26 AM
Subject: RE Close shave

That’s quite unnerving and a little exciting. Kinda like going back to a restaurant after getting a bad does of food poisoning because you really love their duck.

But you seem okay now; yeah?

Elsa was a little suspicious when I got home too. She was put out that she wasn’t invited to dinner. I stressed that it was impromptu. She stressed I could have called her.

I fudged it by saying it could’ve been awkward considering the status of your – whatever it is with Marcus - because another couple might have only reminded them of the good times.

Oftenbark rolled his eyes at that one.

So did Elsa.

She thought I simply didn’t want her around; she felt she didn’t fit in and she admitted that it’s hard to keep up with the banter sometimes.
She then had a bit of a melt down. She feels she’s not intellectually up to the group and they laugh behind their backs at her.

Now I know this it not true. But man, I felt guilty. Cause in a way you and I are laughing behind Elsa’s back.

I came so close to telling her about us. But Oftenbark barked at a car back firing in the street and the moment was lost and I returned to my role as Captain Sympathy to deal with a fast approaching War Ship called the HMS Self Dread; canons loaded, taking aim but missing. Just.

(Okay - went off on a lame metaphor there – sorry – back to literal. Message to self: If I’m going to be poetic be certain I have the text)

Back to Elsa:

Feeling guilty, I took action against Elsa’s worry. I suggested we have a party. Our place; on the weekend – and we can invite everyone - her friends, my friends; everyone.

I can’t believe I suggested it.

So do you and Marcus want to come over to our place on the weekend?
(Of course I’d really like to see you sooner)


Dxx

PS And I have to ask, and I hate myself for asking it, but did you – you know – you know – with Marcus?

186th and 187th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 2:06 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Again?

Dom, Marcus is still here…I just quickly snuck out of my bedroom…said I was going to get a glass of water…passed the computer…read your email and wanted to say I thought it was hot too when we…

…hang on…he’s getting up…write more later…



From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Tuesday July 30th, 1999 7:57 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Again?

Okay…Marcus has gone to Uni…that was close…I hit the send button on the last email and it didn’t send straight away…hotmail froze and I could hear him getting closer and closer…

I couldn’t close it down…that little hour glass kept spinning…

He was now calling my name…I didn’t answer for a couple of seconds…then the hour glass disappeared and I quickly sent the email…

I then answered him and minimized the hotmail…

He wanted to know what I was doing…

I told the two truths and I told two lies…

Said I was emailing you – truth

Responding to your thank you email for dinner – lie.

I said you specifically thanked Marcus – lie

And said he was a good cook – truth.

Anyway he bought it…we went back to bed…snuggled…and I thought of you…sorry…

185 email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Monday July 29th, 1999 23:01 PM
Subject: Close shave

Okay that was close. Did you know Marcus was coming over?

I did feel a little awkward having dinner with both you. And I didn’t know he was such a good cook. I mean what that man can do with a chicken!

Is he still there? I felt he wanted to stay the night.

The overnight bag was a give away.


Dxx

PS I love your apartment by the way. It’s so minimal - small but perfect. Everything is needed. Everything is placed. Hadn’t heard of Hundertwasser before, but his paintings are really something.

And I love how you consciously display pointless items – Monkey with Fez salt and pepper shakers next to that great tight ball of collected chewing gum alfoil paper. It gives it value. I love that.

And I love your books. So many books. I love books.

PPS And I thought it was really hot how your foot rested on mine under the dinner table as we ate ice cream by the way.

PPS Thanks for the lift home. I’ve developed a bruise on my thigh from your hand brake. I touch it and it’s painful. Good pain though, really good pain.

167th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 26th, 1999 18:22 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Last night’s call

Stacey, I think I’m sitting in the same internet café as you. I’m sure I just saw you.

I’m just going to peer over the monitors:

Yes, that’s you.

I can’t believe it.

Are you emailing me as I email you? How funny.

I’m checking my email.
(A few minutes later)

Okay you are emailing me.

If it helps I feel the same way. I feel nervous and little guilty.

Elsa thinks I’m out with the lads.

I am such a liar.

I wonder if you’ve told Marcus anything.
Indeed do you need to tell Marcus anything?

Sorry.
Whatever.

I shouldn’t be talking about them.

I am so excited about seeing you. I just watched you cross the road and move into the hotel. You looked around the foyer.

You’re back outside now; having a cigarette.

You’re trying to look busy and you are so beautiful.

Maybe you’re in the moment.
I hope so.

I can’t stand it any longer.
See you in a second.

156th e-mail

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 2:35 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Yeah. Oh.

So here it is. Here’s the truth. This is what I’ve been bottling up for months.

And please stop reading now. I am about to open up my chest and let it all out.

It’ll be easier to write if I know you’re not reading.

So please stop reading now!

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

--

Okay, I’ve tricked myself into believing you’ve stopped reading and I’m just writing to myself.

So here it is.

I do like you.

I like you very much.

We connected – bantering about collectives and silly dog names.

And the first night we went out was lovely.

I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I had that hollow cup feeling, you know?

I was fourteen again. I’d write your name all over the place even with my finger in the air, in dirt with a stick. One evening I bought some sparklers and wrote your name in the night time sky.

I even made you a mix tape too. How shameless.

Here was the track list:
1: Am I wrong – Love Spit love
2: Thirteen – Big Star
3: You’ve lost that Lovin’ feeling – The Human League
4: This is the day – The The.
5: Melt with You – Modern English
6: Let’s Ride – Roger Nichols and his Small Circle of Friends
7: The Night I heard Caruso Sing – Everything but the Girl
8: Unguarded Moment – The Church
9: Gossip – My Friend the Chocolate Cake
10: Ghosts – Japan
11: Margot’s Waltz – Lloyd Cole
12: Don’t Think Twice it’s alright – Bob Dylan
13: If I could talk - Lemonheads
14: That’s Entertainment – The Jam
15: Ouija Board – Morrissey
16: Ship Song – Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
17: Glory Box - Portishead
18: Hard Times – Baby Huey

But I never gave it to you. I think I was embarrassed. I mean it’s such a clichéd thing to do.

I tried to write you a poem too; something a little funny, quirky and childish. But it was mainly crass – so sorry for even attempting.
But then Marcus happened (and that’s cool) and you liked him (again – cool) and I fucked up (not cool) and knocked that stupid drink over (really not cool).

I know I did it because I was emotionally all over the place. And you owed me nothing. I was an idiot - plain and simple.

But I still thought of you. I tried not to.

I dreamt of you. I saw your face on strangers in the street.

You were everywhere; on the radio, in the newspaper, on the television.

Your face was plastered twenty feet high on billboards. Your image was posted on the side of buses selling a great romantic movie that was coming soon.

I tried to make it stop. I really did. I’d close my eyes. I tried to sleep. But you were still there.

I was crushed.

And do you remember that rave (‘Herpes and something or other ball’ a few months back). You asked me if I turned up because of you.

I lied.

I believe I went on some verbal rant about how amazing the night was and how it was coincidence I was there.

But the truth is I did go out that night because you were there.

I even tried to tell you how I felt.

I recall the moment; a smooth mix of Biftec was playing. You were dancing with Marcus and I said,

‘Leave him. Run away with me.’

But the music was so loud you nodded and didn’t hear me.
And when the morning came and I saw you with Marcus, I suddenly realised that I was a cuckoo; foolish and sinful.

And it wasn’t just guilt.

It was the romantic Gods that told me.
You did look good together.
You smelt good together.
Your children would be healthy.
That’s what the Gods told me.

I admit I cried a little that night.

And in the morning, Elsa came home with that Keith guy. Remember him? Very handsome and very dull. They went straight into her room.

And I was alone (I have a small bear for these moments – had it since I was one week old)

So I decided to stop. I hit my chest hard and decided to stop.
The following morning, I woke groggy – coming down. I met Keith in the Kitchen (good name for a band) and love, sex and the whole pot suddenly seemed a little unfair.

So when Keith was gone I drew pictures of knobs with Elsa.
The next morning we woke in the same bed.

And though I still occasionally thought of you as I kissed her, I knew this was maybe a cure.

I focused on Elsa and tried to forget about you. And I enjoyed it. I really did.

For a week or so.

But you emailed again and it was ever so tempting to go back. I tried not to. I tried not to email you so obsessively.

If you recall, I wrote curt, short replies.

And I spent my time with Elsa.

But soon I was back; falling for you again. And all those feelings of teenage pain returned too.

But it was getting familiar. I liked it.

And when we went to your birthday dinner party and I met some of your new friends, I felt comfortable. I felt that I could sit with you, as yours, and fit right in.

But I was with Elsa and she’s so sweet.

And there you were too, at the head of the table preparing to flash your breasts in the female toilets.

Things were now very complicated.

I remember holding Elsa’s hand under the table and gently stroking her knee as some kind of guilt compensation.

I couldn’t even look Marcus in the face. I felt he knew and when he left so abruptly, part of me felt it was because of me. He was upset at me. Deep down I knew this was madness, but I couldn’t help think that he was returning home and preparing some kind of home made bomb with my address on it.

And all the while my hand remained on Elsa’s knee.

The following day when you emailed and discussed your awful night, I felt so buoyed that you considered me safe to discuss such woe.
And then Oftenbark started writing. That was liberating. I could say some of the things I couldn’t directly.

And I felt you could too.

It was an affair of sorts.

I even put it out there. I don’t know if you recall but Oftenbark suggested that we’d make a great couple.

You correctly saw through this ruse and shut it down.

And I understand.

But for a few hours, I hated you a little.

I wanted you to confess, that you had feelings for me too.
But you didn’t. And that’s cool.

So I stopped writing as Oftenbark and tried to return to Elsa.
But you kept coming. You invited me over for breakfast. You even invited Elsa. I said she was asleep. She wasn’t. I wanted to be alone with you.

I spent so long in the bathroom before coming. I deliberated about what clothes to wear. I thought about bringing you the mix CD.
I giddily arrived. I was so happy to see you.

But as soon as I stood in Marcus’s apartment, I truly realised that you were with him.

Not me. I was so close to acting foolishly.

And this feeling of jealousy and disempowerment brought back that moment with my ex and Russell.

And I hated myself then. I felt sorry for myself and I hated myself.
I even told you the story about Russell, so you’d feel sorry for me too, I think.

And I think you did. We plotted ways to kill him. I loved that game.
And for a moment I convinced myself that this was the best outcome. We’d be secretly intimate in our writing and publicly polite everywhere else.

You’d be with Marcus.
I’d be with Elsa.

And we’d shag with emails.

We’d have something with each other that we never would share with them.
We had secrets. We had fears. We had cruelty. We had fun.

I was going to survive.

Thank God, I was going to survive.

And then you broke up with Marcus.
(not quite sure how to write a musical dramatic chord progression to punctuate the moment – maybe something like Dum-dada-da-DAAAAA!)

So my plan didn’t work.

You see, for me to survive I needed you to have Marcus. I needed you to have the real relationship so we could have the secret one.

So you’re right, I was being safe in my responses to you. I was being a councellor. But if I didn’t, this is what I’d write:

“Dear Stacey, don’t be with Marcus. Be with me. He’s an idiot. I am too. But I know it. He doesn’t."

And for the record you shouldn’t have break up sex with him. He’s a fuckwit and you’re being foolish and perhaps a little cruel.
Besides he’s still controlling it and if you think differently – you’re deluded.

Finally – and here's the big one, if you actually want to go back with Marcus well that’s fine and good. But if you do, please stop writing to me.

I don’t think I can take it anymore.


Dom

PS So there it is. Complete honesty.
God I hope you haven’t read this.

142nd email - 155th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Monday July 22nd July 1999, 22:21 PM
Subject: Perhaps…

Fuck, Jesus Dom…I don’t know is there something else going on here? If there is I’ll support you in whatever it is…and if this email offends you, I’m sorry…but…





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 1:08 AM
Subject: RE Perhaps…

I’m going to bed now as I’m too sleepy to come up with a cogent argument.





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999, 1:12 AM
Subject: RE RE Perhaps…

…you’re a coward…don’t go to bed…





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 1:15 AM
Subject: RE RE RE Perhaps…

Okay couldn’t sleep – and fuck you! I’m not a coward. Jesus I’m not Marcus.





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999, 1:23 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

And there we have it…we have heard the truth…at last…
“I’m not a coward. I am not Marcus.”

See you do have a side. You think Marcus is a coward. Why didn’t you say that?





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 1:43 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Okay you want the truth – don’t place your anger about Marcus on me--

I mean I’m up for carrying your burden but when I do, acknowledge it when it happens, alright?

And don’t the fuck take it out on me.





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999, 1:50 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Okay okay okay…maybe I am taking it out on you…but I am pissed off…and that’s shitty…sorry…I’m an idiot…but I’m angry…I don’t know where to place it…





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 1:54 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

So why such anger…?





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999, 2:02 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Because I didn’t believe you…I thought there was something else going on…there always is when that safe non committal ‘adult’ double speak comes into play…

…most of the time it means the person ultimately doesn’t care…or isn’t listening…but I knew you did…so there had to be something else…





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 2:05 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

But I don’t know what that is.





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999, 2:12 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Stop being so safe, Dom….there is something...
there is something you’re not telling me…

…I think it has to do with Marcus…or I think it has to do with me and Marcus…

I know you have an opinion…about whether I should stay with him or not…but you’re not telling me…





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 2:21 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Yes, I have a strong opinion about Marcus.

Yes, I think you should leave him.

Yes, I think you should be with me instead.

Is that what you want to hear?

Happy now?



d

PS Betcha didn’t see that one coming did you?





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999, 2:34 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Oh…

135th - 138th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Thursday July 18th, 1999 9:01 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE Had an adventure

So are you guys back together?






From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Thursday July 18th July 1999, 22:31 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE Had an adventure

I don’t think so…I don’t think I want it…but things are different…he’s been staying here and not reading before going to sleep…sex is better and he shuts up when I tell him to shut up…

I am a little confused.

How’s things with Elsa?






From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 19th, 1999 8:51 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Had an adventure

Things are fine with Elsa. But we both hope that you’re looking after yourself. Of course we support you in whatever decision you make.


Dxx






From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Friday July 19th July 1999, 21:05 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Had an adventure

Hang on a second… your email sounds final…I’m not making any decision here…

I’m not thinking of returning to Marcus or leaving…indeed this seems quite pure…we’re just in this moment together…yes it’s intimate…but I have found that sex is the closest I get to being in the moment…and if I shut out the fantasy and just focus on the physical it’s perfect…

I know Marcus isn’t quite in the moment…but I don’t care…he’s only a few beats behind or ahead…and we’re not fighting and I’m in control…

So to have you mention that I need to make a choice about being with him or leaving him indefinitely is really insulting…

And patronising…

I mean, come on, Dom…where do you get off? You’ll support whatever decision I make?

You sound like this councillor my mother made me see when I was fifteen…she wouldn’t take a position either…instead playing both sides in a crude attempt to make it seem that she truly understood…

…but she didn’t…she didn’t understand either position…but fuck me if she was going to reveal that…no…she had to stay that one professional step ahead of me because it made her feel better…

I still see her sometimes in the Library…and she pretends to not know me…

I’m going now before I get really angry…

134th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Wednesday July 18th July 1999, 20:55 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE Had an adventure

Thank you, Dom…but I’m not feeling unloved…I’m having great break up sex with Marcus…been going on a few days…



Love

Stacey.

132nd email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Monday July 16th July 1999, 23:29 PM
Subject: RE RE Had an adventure

Hi Dom, sorry I missed your messages yesterday…I had to deal with the fallout...

Marcus came over in the afternoon…he was in tears…

I tried to get him to leave but he was a right old mess…he wanted to know what he did wrong and why I was being so blunt…

I showed him the email I sent you…the story of Bill the blind kind woollen underlay customer… (as I’m calling it now)…so he could get a better sense of where my head was at…

He read it…he took his time…

when he finished I hoped that he’d see that my issue was beyond him…but instead he became jealous…

…he demanded to know why I was telling you the story before him…it seemed so personal…

I told him that I trusted you and that I know you’d understand…

This was the worst thing I could have told him…for I had ostensibly just told him that I didn’t trust him and he didn’t understand me…

Logically he was offended… (I actually feel bad for that one)

…he wanted to know how long I’d trusted you…how long you had understood my actions…

I told him that we kinda understood each other from the beginning…since we started emailing…

”Emailing… how long have you been emailing? How many emails?”

At this point I faltered…

“I want to read these emails!” He demanded.

“I’m not going to show you these emails.” I replied.

And as I was saying it…I realised how important these emails are to me...I would never share them with anyone else…they’re deeply personal…they’re the real me…

See… in real life…my emails are quite happy, generous, stupid even…I never tell people how I truly feel…I never share my insecurities…I’d never share my doubts…

“I want to read these emails. Now!” He demanded.

He started railing that I was being intellectually unfaithful and embarked on one of Marcus’ constructed and cruel monologues...

…but as he talked, I wasn’t listening…I was thinking of you…and how you’d seen me deeper than anyone…and though we’ve slipped occasionally…I considered checking into the Hilton hotel, running a bath and writing a list of my favourite things – placing you on top…


Stacey

130th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Sunday July 15th July 1999, 2:51 AM
Subject: Had an adventure

Dom...I have to tell what happened to me today at work…

...there I was in the this large office in the Guide Dogs for the Blind building in Wharf Street…each cubicle was filled with canvassers guilt tripping strangers into buying junk… “You can see. They can’t. Buy a scented candle…”

Anyway…it was about 3:00 in the afternoon…I had my torn page of the telephone directory in front of me…I had a ‘W’ page and was systematically working my way through, scratching off each name with each rejection…

It had not been a good day…I had only sold a set of barbeque tools…and three calendars of posed Guide Dogs re-enacting scenes from famous films…you know…like…

--two guide dogs standing on the bow of the Titanic, looking toward their future…

--A Guide Dog, gumping it up in special man’s clothes, sitting on a park bench with a box of chocolates in front of him…

--A Guide dog poking his head through the axe splintered bathroom door like Jack Nicholson in The Shining…

Okay I made that last one up…but…

For some reason this day had been really hard…it was driving me crazy and I had become truly defeated and insecure because of the barrage of rejections…

I mean, I know it isn’t personal…canvassing is annoying and most people hate to be bothered with unsolicited calls…I do after all…I know what it’s like…

…but sometimes…on those grey days…it gets to you…

I mean…when over one hundred people…for a brief second…hate you …what’s a girl to think?

So it was with this lump of loss that I cautiously rang BC Williams in Paddington…

As he picked up, I knew he was going to cut me off in seconds and onward I’d go into this severing hell of continuing low self esteem…

So – with no energy and a pitchless tambre…I started with the sanctioned and mandatory introduction constructed by some Guide Dog Bureaucrat…

I knew it by heart now…

“Hello, Mr Williams? My name is Stacey and I’m from the Guide Dogs for the Blind. How are you this afternoon?”

Now at this point I usually hear the click of the phone hanging up or a multitude of replies based around a common and vulgar goodbye theme…

But this time, I got a different answer…

“I’m good Stacey. How are you?”

I couldn’t believe it…someone was being nice…so I quickly put down the hovering pencil that was close to scratching his name out of the telephone directory and replied…

“I’m good…thanks so much for asking…no one ever asks…usually they hang up…”

“Well that’s not right.” He says…

“No it’s not, Mr Williams…” I reply.

“Call me Bill.” He says. “So how can I help you this afternoon, Stacey?”

“Well, Bill…I’m trying to raise money for the Guide Dogs. It’s for training. Would you be interested in making a blind person’s life a little easier?”

“Of course I would,” says Bill, “What would you like me to buy?”

“Well you can make a small offering and buy a set of beautiful, specially designed tea towels. You get three for thirty dollars and they’re really tasteful…I have some in my own kitchen.”

“But will thirty dollars really make a difference?”

“Every bit helps, Bill.”

“What’s your most expensive item?” He asks.

“Well we have this cotton underlay from Jason that keeps you warm in winter and cool in summer.”

“That sounds good. How much is that?”

“Three hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Okay.”

“I know it’s a lot of money.”

“I’ll buy two.”

“Really!?”

“Okay make it three.”

I couldn’t believe my luck…I quickly got out of pad and starting taking his details before he changed his mind…I got his full name, credit card number…everything…and in one short call I had made well over my daily quota…

After I finished gathering the information, I prepared to say my final thanks when Bill said…

“So has that made your day a better one?”

I replied that it had and launched into my final thanks.

“That’s good. I am so glad to have done something decent on my last day. Thank you, Stacey.”

And he hung up…no goodbye…he just hung up…and I was left with the declaration that this was his last day…what did he mean…? Last day for what…? Last day of the holidays…? Last day of smoking…? Last day of life?

My God, was BC Williams of Paddington trying to kill himself?
Was this his call for help?

Am I meant to help him? Is this what this day’s about?

I quickly rustled through his details and got his address…I handed in my sales dockets to the manager and checked out…

I didn’t have much money…just enough for a taxi…I jumped into the taxi and anxiously pleaded to the driver to make it quick…

Soon after I arrived at BC Williams house in Paddington…it was a nice house…a renovated Queenslander decked out in federation colours with a well kept wrap around veranda…the Garden was decent too…a green thumb with a lovely sense if symmetry had obviously beavered away here …

I slowly moved through the garden and approached the front door...but as I reached it…I thought; am I crazy for doing this…? It is a little obsessive…what if it was nothing…? What if it was innocent and now this sad sack from Guide Dogs was about to invade a stranger’s life…I should leave…I should leave now before it gets truly mad…

I started to back off…

…but as I did I thought… if he is trying to kill himself…I might be able to help him and if I weigh it up…I’m willing to be viewed as a stalker on the off chance that this man was preparing to truly slip away…

So I knocked on the door…I waited…I could hear the soft slap of loafers as they padded down the wooden hallway…they neared the front door…I took a breath…the door opened…

“Bill?” I asked.

Bill stood in the doorway of the home. He was a man in his early forties…

…he was little portly.

…his clothes where neat and perfect.

…his hair was shining in the dust infused afternoon sun that echoed
through the hallway from the rear living room window…

…his face was kind and recently shaved with two small patches of stumble below the chin.

…his nose was strong…roman strong…

…and his eyes were cloudy…the colour had gone completely…

He was blind.

“Yes.” He said.

“I’m Stacey.”

Bills eyes shut a little trying to place the name, “From the Guide Dogs.” He said ”Yes, Stacey, of course! How lovely to meet you. Are you here to sell me dog this time?”

Bill’s eyes opened. The gossamer sheen lingered.

“No.” I said a little nervously trying not to look at his milky eyes.

“Are you here with my underlays? That was quick.”

I started to feel awkward. He didn’t seem suicidal. He seemed normal, happy even. What was I doing here!?

“I’m not here with the underlays.”

“Do you want more money? If it’ll make your day easier, I’m happy to buy a couple of tea towels too.”

“No, I don’t want more money. I just wanted to ask; are you okay?”

“Well I’m fine. Thank you for asking. But you didn’t have to come all this way to ask. You have my number.”

At this point I heard a woman’s voice calling from the back of the house.

“Bill, make sure you have your passport.”

A woman, also in her early forties emerged into the hallway…slimmer than

Bill…she was also perfectly groomed with just the right amount of design in her fashion…

“Darling…this is Stacey from the Guide Dogs for the Blind…she popped by to ask if I was okay. Stacey this is my wife, Katherine.”

I started to feel awkward as Bill’s wife approached me.

“That’s kind of you. I didn’t realise Guide Dogs had such great customer service.” She said.

Bill put his arm around Katherine and smiled genuinely at me.

“Well to answer your question, Stacey. I am fine. I’m a little sad. You probably picked that up on the phone didn’t you?”

“I did.” I replied. “Why are you sad?”

“It’s my last day in Brisbane.” Bill said.

“He’s going to Berlin.” Katherine clarified.

“Work. And a new life.”

“He loves Brisbane.”

“Love and hate it.”

“And you’re sad because you won’t be together for a few months, right.” Said Katherine as her eyes peered over her glasses, wryly challenging.

“Of course, darling.” said Bill playfully.

Katherine hit him on the shoulder with the affection of a wife and true friend. Bill laughed.

“So why aren’t you going with him?” I asked Katherine, starting to feel a rush of embarrassment.

“We just sold the house and I’m waiting for settlement. Then I have to finish up with my job. Get the kids out of school. Fix up the Storage. Wait patiently for those woollen underlays to be posted.” Katherine said, again looking over her glasses at Bill as he stared ahead.

“Ah, but those woollen underlays will come in handy for the Berlin winter. They really keep you warm in winter don’t they, Stacey?” asked Bill.

“Yes they do. They do.”

We talked for another five minutes…all very polite…eventually I quietly excused myself with a lie…

“Well I should get back to work.”

Bill and Katherine nodded. They thanked me for my concern and waved me goodbye as I walked out of their property and back onto the bustling gentrified streets of inner city Paddington.

And as I passed the large Antique Centre…I started to cry…a sense of sadness welled over me unlike I’ve ever felt…was this my lot? Was this it? Did I truly have to manufacture drama out of other’s people’s happiness just to make myself feel alive…?

So I rang the guide dogs…quit my job…I can only take so much rejection…

I then called Marcus…met him…dumped him…
I mean it’s only been two months and it’s already hard work…

I then rang my father…told him that he’s one of the worst fathers ever…

Then I rang my mother and told her I loved her…

Finally I came home…counted my money…worked out I needed just a little bit more for a one way ticket to Asia and started writing to you…

And now I feel happy…I really feel happy…


Stacey

PS I wouldn’t mind living in Berlin too…one day. Would you like to live anywhere else?

126th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Friday July 13th July 1999, 19:01 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Love to come over and share the thrill…but I’m working early tomorrow at Guide Dogs selling Tea Towels and woollen underlays…wanna get some cash...gotta stop sponging off Marcus…need to grow up...

And I know you’re thinking; Stacey - tomorrow is tomorrow…let’s be in the present and enjoy the now…

…but I know that if I play in the present…I’ll not sleep ‘til six…not wake up on time…and be stuck eternally with this poverty monkey that loves to mock me…

So it’s best…I go to bed soon…and toss and turn and not sleep for a few hours and eventually get so sick of myself that I will literally fall asleep as an act of self hatred…

Wanna have coffee during the week as paltry counter offer? My shout…


Stacey

111th email - 125th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Monday July 9th July 1999, 17:46 PM
Subject: RE Pancake thank you

I hate that Russell guy…let’s kill him…




From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 10th, 1999 10:06 AM
Subject: Ways to kill Russell

Yes. Let’s kill him. Any suggestions?




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Wednesday July 11th July 1999, 18:26 PM
Subject: RE Ways to Kill Russell

We could spike a small glass with of whiskey with bleach…encourage him to do his Aunt Maxine shtick…and when he’s finished…offer the lethal glass for him to put his false teeth into…so the next time he acts like a knob he poisons himself with his own performance…

You got a better idea?




From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Wednesday July 11th, 1999 20:20PM
Subject: RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Or how about we advertise an audition for a new low budget privately financed film about the perils of hypnotic regression and just invite Russell.

When he turns up, you pretend to be the director and we’ll get someone like Marcus to pretend to be the Psychological adviser.

Russell, ever eager to please will do whatever you want.

So we’ll pretend to put him under and take him back to his childhood, encouraging a recall of his hardest memory.

We will then get him to recount it in GREAT DETAIL, filming the whole thing.

There will be tears. He will be truthful.

Once finished we make many copies of and send them out to everyone that he knows with a comedy soundtrack.

Russell will be humiliated and will lose control.

This is where we step in again and run him over with a car.

And I will never stop hating him.




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Thursday July 12th July 1999, 13: 26 PM
Subject: RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

You could just cut his penis off…




From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Thursday July 12th, 1999 17:29PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Put bottle of gin into an enema and insert accordingly.




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Thursday July 12th July 1999, 23:47 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Make him drink petrol…




From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 13th, 1999 6:11AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Something to do with Spiders. I don’t like spiders.




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Friday July 13th July 1999, 10:21 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Dare him to do a Parachute jump and when he’s not looking take out the silk and put an anvil in his pack instead (I think I’ve seen too many Loony tunes cartoons…)




From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 13th, 1999 11:59 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Cut off his eyelids, put him on his back so he’s staring at the sun and tie him down in the desert during the longest summer’s day of the year.




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Friday July 13th July 1999, 14:41 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Mugged by clouds ‘cause that would be funny…




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Friday July 13th July 1999, 14:43PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Sorry meant to say ‘clowns’… not clouds…




From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 13th, 1999 16:36 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Make him eat his own cooking.




From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Friday July 13th July 1999, 17:41PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Cut off all his fingers and all his toes…stitch his fingers to his feet and his toes to his hands and then hang him off the story bridge and take bets on how long he lasts…




From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 13th, 1999 18:01 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Ignore him, avoid him and forget him. He’d never get over it.

Or I could be successful. That would shit him. I could get a gig in Los Angeles as a writer and pen thinly disguised stories about him.

I like that. Yes, I like that a lot.


D

PS Hey did you know that it’s Friday the 13th. What you guys up too? Want to come over and watch some cheesy 80s slasher films?

98th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Saturday, June 30th, 1999 14:26 PM
Subject: Just for you

Dom…okay you’ve read the diplomatic global email sent to everyone now here’s the truth…

For your eyes only…

…it was a fucking nightmare…Marcus pulled this guilt trip on me as soon as I got home…

...he said, I should have left with him...

...he said he felt embarrassed that I stayed on

...he said he hated knowing I was having fun…

...he said that I probably had more fun without him being there…

I think he just has an issue with birthdays…

he hates his own…he says he feels individual attention is selfish…

it’s his so-called faux socialism coming out…

personally, I think he gets embarrassed that everyone is looking at him…giving gifts when the world is so fucked up…it’s a priorities thing…he places his priorities on aid over personal celebration…

he says he feels hypocritical eating fine food, laughing at regifted presents and drinking mid range wine when there’s such inequity of wealth in the world…

And then he gets all self defeated…he admits that it’s hard to have fun when you have a world perspective…he tries to turn it off but he can’t…it’s who he is…and at time he hates himself for it…he hates that he can never have fun…

And in these moments I get it...with both barrels…

I get the Karl Marx barrel…
And I get the Susan B Anthony barrel…

Anyway, back to last night…I came home at about three AM…

I thought he’d be asleep…but he wasn’t…he was watching...what’s it called...the late night music clip show... this is driving me crazy...I’m going to have to look it up... (man, having senior moments already)

Rage…

It’s called Rage...how could I forget... anyway they were playing a whole bunch of Prince clips on Rage…and I think he was torn between feeling angry, assaulted and sexy…

…he then turned on me…

he accused me of not caring about his beliefs…
I…as you know…was a little in my cups...so I fought back…

I said he didn’t care about my beliefs…he was dominating the tenets...it was all about him…I had a strong belief system too…and all that we talked about was his opinion…

I said it was ironic that for a man who believed in the shared wealth…there was no sharing within his own personal interactions…that he wasn’t a socialist at all…he was a middle class soft intellectual trying to find meaning in other people’s misery…and this is unforgivable…this is using a true doctrine as a deficit of true character…

AND I DON’T SUBSCRIBE TO DOCTRINES!!!

He looked at me…muted Raspberry Beret on the television…and asked if I subscribed to him…

I lost it…it was my birthday and for one moment…just in that moment…couldn’t he subscribe to me…? Other’s did…they all did…

I threw the regifted presents at him:

LOOK! I said…
I got this ugly porcelain dog…
I got this jigsaw puzzle of the twelve apostles…
I got this out-of-date bottle of Mustard Pickle from someone’s road trip…
I got this moth eaten toy gorilla that dances to the Macarena when you press its chest…
I got this little book of pithy one liners that isn’t funny…
I got this ‘Sea monkey’s on Mars’ globe from the National Geographic shop
...and I got this ‘days of the week’ set of underpants…

but what did I get from you? I got nothing…you didn’t get me anything…

He sat back in his chair at this point and grumbled that he told me he wasn’t getting me anything on my birthday…birthday’s are awkward and imposed…he told me I knew he was going to get me something the following day…I knew that, he stressed…

…he then stood and walked into his bedroom…

I thought for a second…here he goes…into bed…avoid it all…avoid me…read his book and trick himself into not feeling by feeling about the world instead…

But he didn’t…he came back out with this wrapped box…he told me it was late now…tomorrow even…and he was going to give me my present…as promised…

Okay…I didn’t see that one coming…I have to admit…I wasn’t out of my rage yet…he had muted rage on the television and he was trying to mute the rage in me…

I took a breath and opened the box…inside was a book called Pencil Letter by a Russian poet named Irina Ratushinskaya…she wrote them while in prison in 1982 for anti soviet agitation and propaganda…

Marcus had been given the book by an ex girlfriend and now he was giving it to me…

She was dead… he said
The Poet? I asked
The Girlfriend he said
Dead-dead!? I asked, stressing the second word
No, just dead in my heart, he said.

He then said…it was me, now…only me… he then opened the book and read me his favourite poem…

“The day died like a dog and won’t come back,
So let’s arrange a funeral feast
There will be many more days just as black
I know. The further east
You go, the worse it gets
(That’s the usual fate of pioneers)

Then we went to the bedroom and fucked…but I had revenge…I wasn’t in the moment with him…I was absent…I was breaking my rules again and thinking of someone else…someone from another time…and he never knew because he presumed I was faithful…but he was wrong…he was so wrong…

Happy birthday to me…


Stacey.

97th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax, Marcus, Elsa, Dominique, Crisps, Fryman, Wilma Petranoff, Lou, Sus’, David M, David A, Pete, Cath, Kiki, Gill, Lou H, Nick
Sent: Saturday, June 30th, 1999 14:04 PM
Subject: What a night

Hi All…

...thanks so much for last night…it was a hoot…

Marcus feels a little guilty for getting a little aggressive at the waiter…and thank you Dom for stepping in and making sure that he didn’t spit in our food…

Indeed Marcus wanted to say to all of you that he was off his game last night…works been tough and he admits he brought this baggage to the night…so he’s sorry he left early but knows that he’ll see you all soon…


Love

Stacey (now 20 and already planning what retirement home she’ll book into –should I trust one that has the word ‘Pasture’ in the name?)

PS Cath, I think my tits are nicer than yours.

PPS Dom, okay I believe you that your ‘days of the week’ underpants gift is second hand and fresh…I will endeavour to keep them…wear them even…indeed I might wear Monday’s undies on Sunday just to keep Sunday’s clean at all times...