Same day, a few hours later. I resisted the urge to stay on the couch and forced myself to put clothes on and go out. Where did I choose to go? Perhaps the worst place that a mildly depressed person could possibly go: the city. I felt very strange after the bus spat me out outside the QVB, as though I was walking through deep water. I waded my way up to Kinokuniya (I have probably spelt that wrong) and drifted around for a little while, looking for a present for my mother. I wanted to get her a diary but couldn't find them. I asked three different people and they directed me to two different types of diaries- the journal kind, and the boring, businesslike filofax kind. (The third person gave me such poor directions that I ended up in the computer section). What I wanted is the date-book kind of diary with pictures of things, specifically with botanist's drawings of plants. Is that too left-of-field?
I gave up after a little while and waded out again, down the escalators, to Pitt Street Mall. I thought I might go look at some dresses, that usually cheers me up, and I did find a rather nice one, in Portmans of all places. Way too expensive, however, so I bought a leopard-print scarf instead. In the change room next to me there were two teenage girls moaning about the lack of hot guys around these days and how their hips are too big, and how one of them's father didn't give them enough money to shop with. I wanted to punch their lights out, mainly out of jealousy that their fathers give them clothes money, but restrained myself. They didn't look like very nice girls. When I ventured out of the change room to look at myself in the dress in the big mirror (a(all the while keeping one eye on the sales assistant, in case she saw me and swooped over with a barrage of false compliments) they looked at me in a most unfriendly manner. Perhaps they didn't like the dress? Maybe I should have asked them for fashion advice.

What's wrong with sizing in this country? Why is it fair to make an extra large, but not an extra small? Everything seems to be too big, and I'm really not THAT small. There's many people out there who are smaller. Where do they buy their clothes, I wonder? There seem to be only two places where I've found clothes that fit me lately: Portmans, and Supre. And there are only about 2 items in both stores combined that I would actually consider wearing.

On the bus on the way home, I tried to work out why I am feeling so crap today. I think it's because I live in the wrong era. Maybe I would have been happier in the 1950s or the 1960s, when nothing more would have been expected of me than to look pretty and keep a nice home. If I had one wish, I think it would be to travel back in time, Pleasantville-style. With the option of coming back to the present of course, in case I didn't like it there. Who knows, perhaps I might decide to stay like Reese Witherspoon did, working my way through all the boys in town.

The only thing I could find on TV that wasn't sport was a bizarre Indian karaoke program on Channel 31. It's blaring away in the background. I'd like to try out a new cookie recipe (from my pirate book, of course) but there's a huge pile of washing up to get through before I can consider making more mess, and I'm holding back from doing it because I think Ben should do it. I always do the darn washing up. I know I'll end up doing it, though, and he will go on believing that he can leave dirty dishes in the sink, sometimes for days, and the magical Trix fairies will come along and make them clean again.

Another grey and cold Sunday. What has happened to summer? I want it to be hot, so I can wear my fantastic dress collection. I'm starting to get really angry with the weather. I realise that this achieves nothing, but I'm damn angry anyway. Particularly as this is my designated 'doing things' day of the weekend. Lately, I've been dividing my weekends into two distinct halves: 1) hung-over, seedy hellish day of lazing on couch and eating copious amounts of junk food (usually this occurs on Saturday) and 2) day for doing pleasant tasks. Eg, browsing at clothes I can't afford, looking for Christmas presents for people, baking cakes and biscuits.

although, for the last few weeks, the weather's been so shitty and I've been feeling so tired, lethargic and generally down that both days have fallen into the former category. Even when I'm not hung over. And now I'm convinced that I have skin cancer. Ho-hum.

I had my work Christmas party on Friday night. I had been worried beforehand that there wouldn't be enough money on the bar to get me drunk (the company I work for is reknowned for its stinginess). I needn't have worried . I can't remember how much I consumed, however I fear it was in the vicinity of 10 drinks or so. All of them assorted spirits, then a couple of champagnes to top it off. (ugh. Now that's a guaranteed shocking hangover right there). I hardly moved from my chair all evening, just sat in the corner in my little group and waited for the food platters to come around. Ended up not having to speak to anyone I didn't want to talk to. An excellent achievement for a work function! I was mildly groped by one of the guys who does the mail, who informed me drunkenly that I was 'the bombshell of the evening'. Ben, being infinitely more sociable than myself, deserted me to play pool halfway through the night. I was quite impressed with his social fortitude. When 'last drinks' were announced, there was a mad rush to the bar to order as many drinks as one could carry. Our table was full of Coronas, neatly lined up, just waiting for someone to drink them.

Ben, Claire, Michael and myself were the last ones standing. We stopped off at the Bald-Faced Stag briefly after leaving Nortons, to check out the Karaoke, but left fairly quickly after realising that the karaoke was shit and the security guard wouldn't let us sit on the floor. (there were no chairs and I was completely unable to stand).

so, yesterday was spent sitting on the couch watching crap weekend television. The highlight was the rock eisteddfod finals. I'm ashamed to admit that I almost participated in a rock eisteddfod. My friend Alex and I practised our audition dance for hours and hours and managed to be accepted (I have no idea how, I can't dance for shit). Then we both dropped out. Thank heavens.

time for me to go and drink some coffee.

Quite pleased with myself for remembering my user name and password,having just consumed way too much beer. I am a total lightweight when it comes to the alcoholic beverages. Most people find it difficult to believe that, usually, one beer is enough to make me pleasantly tipsy, but it's true. Perhaps I should concentrate on either putting on weight, or increasing my alcohol tolerance.

a doctor once said to me, in layman's terms, that if I put on weight, my body would work better. I think he might be right. It would at least make me able to consume more alcohol, and thus be more sociable.

We did well at trivia tonight. The winning team: Nicholas, Bree, Ben and myself. The haul: 2 jugs of beer, and $50. (lucky we didn't have more people, as $50 split between more than 4 people would not be much of a win). Needless to say, I'm now rather turped up, and am trying to sober up a little before bedtime. Typing is possibly not the best activity to speed up the sobering process, I am quickly realising. Each word seems to be too much effort, and the screen is wavering before my eyes.

what the hell. I'm off to bed. If I'm late for work tomorrow, it will hardly be the end of the world.

having to talk to customers on the phone with a hangover may well be the apocolypse, however.

I've just slathered my hair with 'power protein treatment' and am sitting here with a shower cap on my head, waiting patiently for it to absorb and transform my bleach-frizzled mop into a glorious, silky mane. There's something about walking around with a shower cap on your head that really makes you feel like a fool. Could it be the fact that it looks really stupid?

I've done 2 full, meaty, 8-hour days at work so far this week. And I'm craving drunken oblivion already. Before I had ever worked full time, I was thoroughly puzzled by that 9-5 cultual thing of getting plastered every Friday night, just cos it's Friday. The whole 'Thank God It's Friday' cliche that appears on various merchandise, mugs and calendars and the like, popping up on desks in offices all over the world. I remember meeting Ben sometimes on Friday nights, when it was just another night to me, and frequenting bars packed full of suits in 'casual Friday' clothes, behaving like animals that have just been released from a cage. On the prowl for a bit of Friday night action, perhaps with that hot new chick from accounts.

I remember one of them looked down my top while I was standing at the bar, and delivered what has to be the most mind-blowingly creative pick-up line ever: 'That's A Great Top!'. He must have mistaken me for the hot new chick from accounts. I'm sure it's easy to do after 25 beers.

Anyway. The sad thing it that I now understand completely. By Friday, the full-time employee is feeling so repressed, bored and restless that the concept of not having to go to work for 2 days seems like the most exciting thing in the world. It becomes time to 'cut loose', to 'shake your tail feather'. The problem is, you're supposed to do this on Fridays, not the minute you get home from work every day. At least Mr Nick is coming back to work tomorrow.Hurrah! A friendly face in a sea of British backpacker temps, who I'm sure all think I'm a grumpy snob cos I don't talk to them on the bus in the morning (I'm shy. And I don't talk to ANYONE on the bus in the morning, because, officially, I am still asleep). They'll probably make us sit at opposite ends of the office so we can't be 'disruptive'.

I think I'll go and bake an eggplant now. I'm making eggplant salad for dinner. Out of my new pirate cookbook.

Same old evening, waiting for pizza to arrive, many beers later. Strains of Nirvana coming from the living room. Much fun was had by myself, Ben and Nicholas with a keyboard and a disco beat and a walking blues bassline. And apparently now it's the last day in November.