(diaryland) August 14, 2001 - 12:22 p.m.

When I have a bad morning, I really have a bad morning. I go all out-and-out.

It began at about 12:15 AM when the mice in my room had a brisk morning run on their wheel. I confiscated it and then went back to sleep. Then, at about 7:09, I woke up and had a brilliant idea. At about 7:30, I had elaborated upon this idea to the point that the world was going to reel in astonishment from what I had to say. I was going to write a book about it as well. At about 7:45, I realised I'd dozed off again and had completely forgotten my amazing idea. I decided to lie there for a while. At about 8:07, I decided that lying in was a really bad thing to do, especially because I had no idea where my purse was.

At 8:10 I entered the kitchen. Diane had written a note. �PUT THE BLOODY BINS OUT OR DIE!� it basically said. So I did. My feet got cold and dirty. At 8:15, I had a shower. It was probably the most nice thing I�d done so far. At 8:30, I started looking for my purse. For some strange reason, my room was quite clean, and I couldn�t see it around there. I moved on to other rooms. Nope, not there either. It just wasn�t anywhere. So, at 8:45, I ran to the bank. I thought I could get money from there so I could buy a ticket to get to work.

At 9:03, I entered the bank. The teller at the bank was very calming. She basically stopped me from hyperventilating, no mean feat when she had to break it to me that because I had no identification, I couldn�t get any money out, but I didn�t have any �funds� anyway so it didn�t really matter. I did a mass hang-dog face at her and I think I broke her heart.

At 9:10, I rang my Dad. He felt sorry for me too. He said, �drive over here and I will give you some money.� So I ran back to my house, got my car and did just that. I was still wearing the hang-dog expression from the bank so my Dad didn�t tell me off for being irresponsible. He even said, �you don�t have to pay me back.�

I said, �hey, thanks. By the way, I�m coming for dinner tonight.�

So then at 9:32 I drove to the train station and attempted to buy a ticket. This was harder than usual, mostly because the machine I was trying to buy it out of was busted. It didn�t take notes. A scruffy old man was loitering near the machine, so I asked him whether he had change for five bucks. He said, �Nope. I�ve only got five cents to my name. Why don�t you use a bankcard or something?�

I said, �Mwa-hahaaa.�

So at 9:39 I ran across the road to the nearest milk bar and bought a ticket for the train. Then I ran back to the station and puffed my little way up the ramp again and leapt onto a conveniently stationary train. By this stage, my head was hurting in a mixture of tiredness and disappointment in myself. See, this kind of shit happens a lot to me. And it�s almost always my fault. Being scarily broke isn�t my fault because I only earn crappy student wages, but being disorganised to the point of madness is all about me.

So then I got to work, an hour and a half late. I looked seedy. My boss said, �Do you have a migraine? My daughter says she gets those a lot.�

I said, �no.�

I got coffee, had a bit of a draw on the computer, and then a man who looked exactly like Dennis Hopper came to the office and talked to me at length about spa baths.

It is now 12:08PM. Yay! It�s afternoon! Morning is dead.