Oh, what a hellishly awful and most horrible day. My job is becoming more and more unbearable with every passing hour. I started off there as a filing clerk and general dogsbody, happy and fancy free, at liberty to hide in the filing area and eat chocolate biscuits from the seemingly endless supply in the kitchen. Six months down the track, and there never seem to be any chocolate biscuits left when I look hopefully in the fridge, and I'm being asked to do more and more tasks that I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA HOW TO DO. And I have to fill out daily time logs so they know how long I take to do these tasks that I have no idea how to do, which is always a ridiculously long time because I have to go and ask about EVERY little thing for fear of making an error. Add a hideous computer system that screws things up all the time and a bunch of unfriendly people and WELL, IT JUST SUCKS. End of story. Suffice to say, I spent the whole bus trip home crying behind my sunglasses. Why do things have to bother me so much? Why? The worst thing that can happen is my getting fired, which I really wouldn't mind right now, to tell you the truth. But what really gets me upset is the fact that they all think I am an idiot. I can just TELL. And this bruises my sizeable ego considerably.

A surprisingly wonderful weekend, and about time too, the last four or five having been filled with uni work, or guilt about not doing uni work. My exams finished on Thursday, and, after recovering from the horror of my brain-freeze during the harmony paper (I may just need an act of God to pass that one), I allowed myself to feel just a little relieved. My first ever year of full time study, finally over. It only took me four tries.

So , Friday afternoon I went to Vanessa's to drink wine with soda water in the back garden, followed by a journey to Vic's house for whisky and songwriting. Saturday was spent on the couch in a hungover stupor, watching low-quality television. Sunday was spent in a similar fashion without the hangover. I listed some shoes on Ebay (and, in the process, realised just how ugly my feet and legs are, when you see them in a Supersized photo), then wandered aimlessly through the Newtown festival with Vanessa for a little while, both of us dressed in matching pink frocks. I remember doing the exact same thing with Nicholas, last year...wandering listlessly about for a short while, then adjourning to the pub to recover from having been repeatedly hipstered.**This time we went to the Sly Fox for alcoholic cider, and watched the last of the Sunday afternoon karaoke. Vanessa's right about the Sly Fox...it could be lifted up and plonked down again in any suburb, and still look & feel right at home. At least, until the drum and bass started, which was when we left.

**Hipstered: meaning having been looked up and down in a nasty and snide fashion by a hipster.