THE SECRET DIARY OF. . . JAMILEE ROSS
MONDAY
I feel fine now. I mean sure I had a mental breakdown and I was in a very dark place and I was the victim, very much the victim, and I suffered and I was covered in boils and I wore a sackcloth and ashes and endured nameless agonies, but I feel fine now.
It’s a lovely day for a drive. God, people are slow! But I overtook every single one of them because noone or nothing could stop me from reaching the manifold destiny that awaited me as I drove from Auckland to Wellington to spread my important message.
I drove past Lake Taupo. I was thirsty and could have drank the lake in a single draught. I drove through the Desert Road. I felt like exchanging my car for a camel and riding it through the Rangipo desert in long flowing robes and a thin smile on my tanned, rugged and very handsome face.
I looked at my very handsome face in the rearview mirror many, many times. I thought of how it would soon look to a breathless nation. I practised different smiles, different expressions of injury, different expressions of profound selfimportance.
I put the top down past Taihape. I felt the wind in my hair. It stroked it, caressed it. It couldn’t get enough of it! My hair was driving the wind crazy.
I unloosened my tie on the Horowhenua plains. There’s nothing plain about my body, and I slowly began to uncover, to reveal, to expose, and took a certain sensual pleasure in driving past the Kapiti Coast in the nude.
I was hardened in my resolve as I
entered Wellington.
TUESDAY
I’ve never felt better in all my life. I never wanted the press conference to end. I could have gone on forever. Towards the end of it I had to bite down the temptation to stop talking and to sing! To sing loud, to sing to the very heavens! Because wasn’t I giving a concert? Wasn’t I live, onstage, feet firmly planted on the blackandwhite tiles in the greatest theatre of all, Parliament, where so many performers have entertained the nation — but surely noone has ever transfixed the nation like I did, in my gala performance, in my great hour, in the spectacle I made of myself.
Thank you all for coming.
WEDNESDAY
I’m on top of the world. I’m peaking. Is this how Christ felt?
Jesus, too, had He been around today, would have made His way to Wellington police station equipped with the secret recordings that I made of private conversations.
And just as He had His scribes, I had journalists, so many journalists!, follow me to the police station. I felt them like raindrops — so many raindrops! — falling on the branches of a mighty totara, i.e. me.
They scattered all around me. I tasted them on my lips. I touched them with my hands. I uncovered, I revealed, I exposed — I exulted.
THURSDAY
I felt a bit of a chill in the air.
FRIDAY
I don’t feel well. I feel distinctly unwell. Where did the wellness go? How could it be there one minute, and gone the next?
I’m wondering if I have blundered my way into somewhere familiar, somewhere I don’t want to be, somewhere I don’t belong — a very dark place. —