(diaryland) July 6, 2000 - 21:28:47

This is what I did today. It was a kinda fun-packed day.

I woke up at seven o'clock in the morning. This was far too early for my liking. I pretended to go back to sleep, but I didn't. I just couldn't fool myself. I was awake.

I got up at eight o'clock. I needed to look up my marks for last semester on the internet. I think this is why I woke up so early. The marks are officially released at seven o'clock, and my brain knew this. Damn you, wily brain.

I looked at my marks, and I liked them. They were all above fifty percent. Some of them were just over fifty percent, but that didn't matter. I passed. Phew. Praise you, wily brain.

I had to go to a nearby university to appear on a radio show. My parents asked where I was going. I really didn't want them to listen to me on the radio. I told them I was helping out a friend with something. They saw me carrying CDs. They asked many questions. Finally I let it slip out that I was "helping a friend" with a radio show. They then yelled excitedly, "Clare's going to be on the radio! Clare's going to be on the radio!" It must have been my face that gave it away. I tried to prevent them from listening to me anyway by conveniently not knowing which radio station I was to appear on, but they looked on the internet and worked out which one it was. Damn you, wily parents.

I left the house without having changed from the clothes I'd slept in last night, or having brushed my hair. I did, however, brush most of my teeth. I drove to the university, and found the radio station rather easily. I entered the broadcasting room at about half-past ten, and sat down, feeling rather nervous. I'd met one of the DJs last week. She went to the Prostitute Play with me and two other friends of mine. The other DJ was noisy and brash. They played my band's demo and asked me many questions about my band, including the question, "So - what's it like to be in a band?" That question was difficult to answer. I could feel the vibes of my excited parents at home, their ears pressed to the radio. I think I did a good job of the interview with that vision in mind. Good one, parents.

With that out of the way, I went home and got real clean. I made an attempt at a violin practice, then went to my violin lesson. The son of my violin teacher is in the same course as me; Architecture at Melbourne University. He asked me whether I'd found out my marks, and I said, "Yep." I then asked him whether he'd gone OK with his marks, and he said that he hadn't looked at them yet. How can he do that? Some people have enormous restraint, or they're just bloody scared that they've failed. One or the other. Still, that's no excuse. Finding out your marks is like ripping off a band-aid. Just get it over with already.

Then I went back home and rang Roland. I asked whether he wanted to hang around with me while I did stuff, and he said, "OK." I was driving to his house to pick him up, and there was this truck that was sticking out all over the road and it was in the way. As I was approaching, a guy who was affiliated with the truck saw me and he ran out and put a traffic cone on the road near the truck. I believe that this was meant to remedy the situation. It didn't.

I did other stuff today, but my index fingers are tired now. They are the ones that type.

Roland won't let me put my finger in his belly button. This irks me.