My name is Honey Morenzo and I’ve been asked to occasionally contribute to this website. You’ll need to read my previous blog (July 14th) to understand some stuff in this one.

10th August 2009

Can’t spend long typing this ‘cos am at my desk and Roderick is in a foul mood about sales figures. Am feeling extremely demoralised myself today because realise, yet again, that I should have jumped ship from this job when there were loads of other jobs to apply for. Looked up a volunteering website a while ago and saw there were some very interesting jobs in Peru…somewhere near the Amazon…possibly in or near the jungle. Got quite excited until I saw it required fluency in Spanish. Perhaps should start attending Spanish night-classes. Similar vacancies may pop up in the future.

Last night I visited my pal Astrid who’s in her mid sixties and a student of Shamanism. The ‘healing traditions of indigenous cultures’ really float her boat. Thank God she didn’t tell me I was creating my own reality because I might well have thrown the plate of chocolate digestives at her. Sometimes there’s only so much of this ‘evolving consciousness’ stuff one can take. Anyway….she made me a nice mug of Earl Grey Tea and her Siamese cat Biggles sat on my lap. “This too will pass Honey” she said with her big sweet smile. How does she know this stuff about me? I was doing my best to appear really contented because as Tanbo (boyfriend) frequently points out I am not living in a shack in the ‘developing’ world and have access to clean water and electricity and pleasant enough food…including Starbars. The great thing about Astrid is she doesn’t mind when I get pissed off.
She just accepts people as they are.

Gotta go because reception has just rung to say there’s an author skulking around wanting to know why their manuscript ‘isn’t suitable for our list’. She’s told them no-one is available for comment but they are now attempting to get into the lift. Will have to head them off somehow. Yikes.



Some hours later

Took marauding author out for quick cappuccino. Highly unprofessional but he is very attractive and American. Roderick told him to “drop by sometime” when they met in Manhattan. He has just written a book of poems called ‘The Quiet Fig’. I doubt that Roderick knew of these impending stanzas when they met in NYC…seems they share an interest in motorbikes. I told him that if and when he actually meets Roderick again he should not mention ‘The Quiet Fig’ or the letter (he just signs them anyway) or the ‘list’ which is rarely explained to anyone and is basically a secular mystery. I added that we do not publish poetry anyway and briskly suggested that he buy the Writers’ and Artists’ Handbook.

I wanted to make a quick exit before he suggested that I read ‘The Quiet Fig’ but suddenly we were talking about 2012 and the Mayan calendar and various prophecies which, to be honest, take quite a bit of getting used to. Scott, that’s his name, also believes the world is undergoing some vast transformation. He has actually studied quantum physics and the mating habits of hummingbirds and lived in the Amazon jungle for five months as a volunteer teacher. (He speaks fluent Spanish.) We both adore Frazier and antique fabrics and E.M. Forster. We discovered all this about each other in 21 minutes. Suddenly I knew he had to meet my pal Astrid. She’d love him. When I said this he said he was going back to New York tomorrow. In just twenty four hours.

I tried to feel grateful that I had met this wonderful creature…he resembles a gazelle in some way…which sounds stupid I know…but it’s true. But, as Tanbo would certainly point out, gratitude is on my improvement list. He is wonderful at pointing out all the things that I need to work on and I don’t even feel grateful for his judicious mentoring. He would also almost certainly say that the sudden attraction I felt for Scott was, in fact, a projection. That I was seeing qualities in him I didn’t fully own in myself. Tanbo can make relationships sound like macrame. It’s one of his many talents. He also makes really delicious bread.

So Scott and I parted, like ships in the night and I’m back home and feeling guilty. Because Tanbo is my soul mate. That’s what he says anyway and he knows about that kind of thing. He follows his ‘intuitive wisdom’. He even gave a workshop about it. He knows what he wants and how to get it. But Scott is bewildered…a little lost even…uncertain. He’s all done sorts of great things but he doesn’t even seem to know he’s done them. He feels like a “schmuck”. That’s what he said before he left. A fake. A cheerful desperado. I loved it when he said that. I don’t know why. And now he’s gone and it shouldn’t matter, but it does. And I will probably never understand why. What it meant. What it reminded me of. By next week he’ll be an anecdote.

But I know I’ll never think of figs in the same way again.



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