Tired old hungover kind of day. I finished watching Sabrina this morning. Oh, to be as beautiful as Audrey Hepburn. Lazed about, read paper, a textbook Sunday afternoon. Tonight I have to go out for dinner with Ben's dad etc. Ho-hum. Last night I invaded Nicholas's apartment and drank three quarters of a bottle of cheap white wine. We started working on a new song, which I'm a bit excited about. Unfortunately I was wearing a 1950s dress with a very small waist and a very tight belt which made breathing difficult, therefore singing properly was nigh impossible. I tried to rectify the problem by unzipping the back of my dress, but my voice still sounded pretty terrible. When I'm drunk I can't pitch notes properly. Does a larynx count as heavy machinery?

It's only hitting me now that I'll be going to the Conservatorium in a month, and that kind of scares me. I'll be surrounded by people who will probably be far better than me at all things musical, especially the harmony side of things. And, as a full-time student, I'll have to make friends I guess. Last year, because I was part time, I could get away with slinking in and out of classes without really having to talk to anyone. I did feel a bit lonely, I have to admit. It's easy to tell yourself that you don't care, that you don't mind sitting by yourself, but when everyone is waiting outside before a lecture and they're all in small groups having little conversations and you're sitting by yourself smoking, it really does get to you. But joining a group and opening your mouth and making words come out is just too much effort, sometimes.

I also have to worry about the business of survival, earning enough money to get by whist still being able to do my homework. I'm trying not to think about it, which is probably the worst possible tactic.

Well. I now have relatively new hair. I went to my mum's hairdresser in sunny Mosman, for something a little bit different. Most of the black has been cut off, so it's shoulder length and predominantly blonde, with a bit of black peeking though on the bottom. The cut is a little too blunt for my liking, I prefer more razoring on the bottom to thin it out a bit, but it looks pretty good. I'll get used to it. As for the colour, I've had all the blonde re-dyed, so it's now silvery white. There are some pesky yellowish patches, I think it could have done with another 10 minutes of bleaching, but nothing too hideous. When I first walked out of the salon I was convinced that I hated it and proceeded to panic and curse and generally behave like a little shit. Then I realised that I hadn't had a cigarette for four hours, recitified this problem, and calmed down a treat. A few hours of intensive styling later, involving experiments with my new curling iron, I'm feeling pretty happy about the whole thing.

It must have looked very strange to my mum, who sat calmly watching the tennis while I streaked back and forth from mirror to mirror, declaring 'I love it' and 'I hate it', depending on the sample style into which I had arranged it. My poor mum, she must be very disappointed to have raised such a messy daughter. She can't sit in my house for five minutes without cleaning something. I think Vanessa feels the same way but she can usually refrain from tidying.

so now I'm bored. Ben is at the Big Day Out, the rich bastard. If anyone reading this wants to go out for a drink, please give me a call, or at least get your excuse ready for when I call you, which will probably be within the next 2 hours. Whenever this darned rain clears up.

Medical dramas: I had to leave work early yesterday, as I was plagued by severe dizzy spells and a general throwing-up kind of feeling. I had to put customers on hold cos I kept losing my balance, mid-conversation. A colleague helpfully suggested, 'Hey, Fiona, maybe you're pregnant!!'. Mass panic. I went to the doctor and was subjected to a barrage of tests, including a pregnancy test (negative. Thank the lord). And three tubes of blood(which is no small feat for me, as I have a grave fear of blood tests. You should have seen me squirm when she put the needle in). And a weigh-in. The thing the doctor seemed most concerned about is my weight, which has dropped. I think she thinks I'm anorexic, seeing as she kept asking me, 'Do you eat regularly?' 'Are your relatives thin as well?' 'What have you eaten today?'. I assured her that I do eat quite a lot, especially sweeties and cakes, but I could tell from the look on her face that she didn't believe me. Darn it, I can't help being puny, why must I be subjected to such questioning? I guess she was just concerned, but it makes me feel like a criminal.

I am now the proud owner of a red, heart-shaped ceramic saucepan. Just looking at it will never cease to delight me.

Ben just told me that my beautiful new pink top, festooned with embroidered bows and a black ribbon tie at the bust and little cap sleeves, is 'boho'. My parade has been well and truly rained upon. I decided not to show him my new black satin pencil skirt, for fear of what insulting comments he might conjure up.

What an insult. I hate boys. They have absolutely no idea.

I've become addicted to The Office (the TV series, that is, certainly not that hellhole in which I waste every weekday). Problem is, now I've watched both series 1 and 2, and there is no more. Ben is now watching the bloopers, so desperate is he for more Office, but I don't like watching bloopers. It kind of spoils the magic.

I applied for a new job today....as a transcription typist, typing from tapes of interviews and court cases. I emailed my application, using the fancy little 'Apply Now!!' link on the My Career website, attaching both my resume and my cover letter and sending the whole thing off. Two hours later I get a terse email back from the company informing me that my resume wasn't attached. Darned fancy auto-application, I know I DID attach it but it somehow failed to arrive at its destination, so now I look like a complete idiot and a liar, as my resume rabbits on about my fantastic computer skills. Gosh darn it. I've had enough of getting yelled at by subscribers on the phone all day.

Interesting fact: In Stalinist Russia in the 1930s, in Leningrad, there were sightings of 'wild streetcars'....trams illegally driven by rogues who followed no particular route and drove around in circles, with unregistered conductors who unlawfully collected fares from the passengers. I read this fact in my Stalin book on the bus yesterday morning, then laughed for the remainder of my journey to work. Does anyone else find that wildly funny?

It would make a good excuse for being late for work, I guess. ' Forgive me, I hopped on a wild streetcar by mistake'.

I'm so damn TIRED, I think I need to sleep for a few weeks. I'm desperately craving white wine but I've got no money to spare. It's beer or nothing.