Jessica Hartley

( Let the weak be strong, let the right be wrong. Throw the stone away, let the guilty pay. )

Of course as soon as my mom's well enough to talk to us, she takes the time to send me a three-page email about what a disappointment I am. I'm sorry for not going into the family business, Mom, but raising three kids by age seventeen on a Sonic salary just wasn't my style. Does being a giant slut run in the family? I hope the fuck not, man, but knowing me that shit skips a generation and my kids will be just like Grandma.

I shouldn't have fuckin' been worried about her. She's fine.

I need another drink.

There is nothing wrong with showing up to work buzzed and Rebecca needs to shut her mouth. I hate this fucking job anyway.

Great. Just great. Katie calls to tell me my mom's in the hospital with heart problems, and meanwhile my uncle was flown out of his base in Fallujah to Germany to be looked at for brain injuries after having a seizure in the mess hall. And all I can do is sit here in this backwoods place and wait.

I mean, at least at home it'd be a familiar kind of backwoods. Oh well, time to marathon The Politics Fix. Punchy political commentary can take my mind off of things by distracting me with bigger things.

This is the weirdest weekend of my life. Who'd have thought those mythology classes in college would actually come in handy? I mean, knowing about gods is one thing even when you work for one, but getting thrown into things like this... It's a trip, man.

New Hampshire is nice, though. My grandparents used to live up here before they decided cliches are exactly their brand of heroin and they moved to Florida. Barely seeing the sky is familiar enough, although it's freaking hilarious that they actually think Manchester is a city. Not that I should talk, being Little Miss Ohio, but I guess New York's gotten in my head.

Also, for the record: no matter what he or his family tell you, Matthias Maahes the guy I slept with holy shit Matthias has terrible taste in music.

Oh god Diana's gonna flip her shit

So they finally let me out of the hospital today, and I got home to find about twelve messages from Diana on my phone. She's apparently haring off to California to "get a bit more of me" and she's taking her girlfriend and her intern.

Whenever Di feels like telling me what the hell's going on with Rebecca, it'll be too damn soon, but whatever. She feels like making some teenager her new best friend, who am I to judge? For all I know, she's the goddess of makeup or something stupid like that. If anybody needs me I'll be in my damn apartment, taking Vicodin with absinthe and not giving a shit. What sign of the apocalypse are we on now, anyway? I feel like a blackout of the sun is hardcore 11th plague material.

To um Set, god of storms:

Paparazzi is busy so I've been told to thank you, especially for not killing any of them, and for following through no matter how crazy and demented her requests sounded. She adds that the part about talking to the giant one was especially important, even if it didn't seem so at the time, and that you can consider part of it filled, but only part.

She, uh, said you would know what that meant. And that you're welcome for being vague.

Why is my boss giggling so much? It's creepy.

She just gave me a hug and a raise. I'd say I need a drink, but her phone is starting to ring and I have a feeling this is gonna be a hell of a night.

[Hand-delivered to Arachne's store]

An old but well-preserved copy of Spider-Woman #1 with a note tucked inside.

You didn't tell me you had a new mortal, Lydia. Have you thrown a latté at her yet? They make the cutest screaming noise.

-Di


[Hand-delivered to Moira]

Baby doll, it's been too long. I just got in a new shipment of top-shelf Grey Goose.

By the way, you know our friend Michelle McGee, right?

-Di

Diana's been irritable all week, but turned into a complete beast today. It was really odd, she looked incredibly tired and had these dark circles under her eyes, kept chain-smoking and drinking coffee but complaining it wasn't doing anything. I didn't even know goddesses could get like that. She was just... almost fragile. When she wasn't screaming. And she hasn't been able to be in a room with Rebecca for more than five minutes at a time, either. I know something's up with her, Diana was weird about picking Rebecca and she's been weird ever since.

I need a bloody drink. Sweet green fairy, take me home.

( To Do )

I'm home I'm home I'm home, got in yesterday. As wonderful as England was? I am NEVER leaving this country on a freaking milk run again. But I did Diana's stupid errand, was in London for almost five weeks, and finally got it done.

First things first: a drink.

( Private )

( Delivered to Arachne )

I met this woman today in Twickenham named Mallory Mackenzie. She was tall, loud, red-haired, nosy, wore too much jewelry and looked like a chav-turned-rich, and she was a god. She said I smelled familiar- is that even possible? I shouldn't "smell" like anything outside of the country.

Diana, she said she'd help me. Us. I can finally come home.

• Check the sources on four articles


• Buy tickets to the Globe (Macbeth and Midsummer this weekend)


• Remind my boss that I can't be her assistant from across continents


• Get productivity report on the new bartender from McCarthy, forward it to Diana


• Find cleaning service for Los Angeles apartment willing to clean blood stains, no questions asked despite the complete lack of any records of this apartment anywhere in her books


• Drink myself into a stupor over my probably mafia-tied shill of a boss


• Forward selection of incoming New York Star interns to Diana, she needs to actually make a damn choice this year as to what tender young mind she's fostering

Still in England. Still hate my life.

Miss Monroe, excuse my impertinence when I ask where the bleeding fuck are you getting all this money? Because I keep digging, and the rabbit hole keeps getting deeper. There's only one place in the country with them, Miss. And they aren't budging.

Go to England, she says. First she calls me at three in the morning and makes me deliver spiders to Miss Idmon's apartment, now she's telling me to go to England and be prepared to empty all of her platinum accounts.

What the Christ?

Oh man. I met another one today. I mean, I knew they were all here, and I know even more now, but- still. It's kind of shocking.

I actually insulted one. I insulted a god powerful enough to turn me into, I don't know, a frog or rip me apart with his mind and I insulted him. This is what I get for going online after two glasses of absinthe.

So, note to self: mind your P's and Q's. These... gods are just as powerful, if not more than Miss Monroe, and could mess you up worse than Absinthe.

I just love it when my boss changes genders abruptly, instructs me to burn a couch at his own club, shoves me into a war with his best friend, and takes off for parts unknown.

Apparently he's in Reno. Why is he in Reno? I have no idea. But I have a pile of Hawaiian shirts, thirteen live tarantulas, an irate club manager demanding the budget for a new couch, and no idea what to do with myself. Luckily, he's still paying me to fact-check his articles, which is a good thing, since they're coming back looking like the work of an illiterate gorilla.

I'm dying to know: who broke my boss? Erratic I'm used to, but not like this.

• Check the sources on the Gosselin article


• Buy three week's worth of men's clothing??


• Email to McCarthy: Boss said something about one of the LDV couches? Apparently it needs reupholstering or burning or something. She He She was kind of unclear.


• Evict the tenants of the upstairs apartment. Just get rid of them, she says. They don't really matter anyway, she says. Make sure the place is furnished with Internet access, she says. Have it ready by Monday, she says.


• Pick up Miss Monroe's Mr Jackson's dry-cleaning

So I wanted to go party with my friends but there were some problems with that. Apparently they all think I'm crazy. But that's only because I'm acting completely fucking crazy. Judgmental bitches.

Also, my hell-bitch of a boss made me come fucking be her little lap-dog and make sure she doesn't rip someone's heart out with her teeth and devour it in a dark alley to feed her quest to pass out into the very pits of Hell tonight.

God, she won't fucking stop moping. I can feel it somehow, I don't even know, but I just want to jump off a bridge, have for days now. I suggested that she call that friend of hers, that nymph named Echo, right? And she turned on me, gave me this look that made me feel like fucking Poseidon or someone was turning his wrath on me, and I could feel myself shrinking- not physically, haha, but it was bad. She's fucking terrifying.

Why can't I just quit? I try so hard, but I can't. I'm trapped, and I don't know why. I get sick or faint on my way to job interviews, or I fucking feel pain when I try to fill out apps, I can't quit and I don't know why. I feel her, she's in my head, but she's not.

God, I don't have a fucking resolution. I have a wish.

Help me. Someone.