- moving out. Cleverly, I forced Queener to help me so it got done quickly with minimum fuss, as I sobbed and she threw things in binbags. Well, it was my decision.

- moving in. To a bedsit in Streatham. No living room, but my bedroom opens onto the garden, which I share with the downstairs neighbour, a cat called Spike, a fox and about a million tennis balls/frisbees/shuttlecocks thrown over by the kids either side.

- ill. Good god, I was iller than I've been in YEARS. I had to take a week off work, which totally sucked as it was during exams and I lost a load of money. I'm better now, just about.

- boozing. Obviously.

- getting sunburnt in Huddersfield. I didn't think it would be THAT HOT this weekend. Eeeeeeesh.

So I bought me one o' dem ol' peasanty skirts what is so fashionable right now (why am I talking like this? god, the heat...) and today I have teamed it with a vest (which, by the way, is a size 12. TWELVE! okay, it's from dotty p's. quiet at the back.)

Both items of clothing are brown (cos wasn't brown the new... you know?) and I was under the impression I looked ever so kooky and cool (to add to the effect I'm not wearing any shoes and listening to The Kinks at full blast - I'm sure that's putting the viva students at ease.)

However, I just had to slip on me Birkies and traipse over to stores to get teased by the blokes pick up some academic diaries. On the way back, I caught sight of myself in the revolving doors, red-faced and puffing and hefting a massive cardboard box.

I looked as though I should be toiling in a field somewhere.

My peasanty skirt makes me look like... a peasant. Ak.

I had some people over last night for a flatwarming [please insert some sort of joke about the weather here, every other bastard's doing it] and very nice it was too. Although I'm not sure how much they appreciated the trek to Streatham. Luckily half the guests lived over the road from me and another couple drove, so I'm only feeling a little guilty.

It was nice. My friends, my flat, my garden. I got drunk. In fact, since I've moved in, that was the drunkest I've been (which is a shocking/surprising state of affairs as CQM has visited me more than once.) I suppose I was drunk last weekend (I was playing on some swings at midnight and laughing like a loon which I guess would suggest I was...) but I was in Yorkshire so that doesn't count.

I'm a little fuzzy headed this morning. I woke up at five and watched Countdown for a bit and ate some crisps. Then I fell back asleep, ruining my grand plan to take the Thameslink to Blackfriars and walk into work. I swear I'll do it one day. I got up and brushed my teeth and sang a stunning rendition of 'Regret' to myself in the mirror. The man next door must think I'm a lunatic. Maybe I am.

I'm happy today. I don't think I notice enough when I'm happy. So I am writing myself a reminder. Sometimes I'm happy. I'll read it when I'm sad.

I'm sat at my desk with the fan trained on me. No bugger coming into reception is going to share my cooling breeze.

Yeah, I'm selfish. So what?

My hair's down and flowing out behind me as though I'm in an advert. I'm lifting my chin a little bit to get the full effect of the breeze and it's making me look haughty and cool. I think I look like a model or a pop star or something with my own personal wind machine and my 'glowing' complexion.

Or I did until my boss walked past and said 'aw, look at you - you look like a dog hanging out of a car window!'

Thanks for that, luv.

Ladies, I have a problem. A couple of days out of every month (the couple of days I've just put myself and my esteemed colleague through, in fact) I completely LOSE THE FUCKING PLOT. I become the most needy, angry, broody, sex-crazed, desperate, insecure, pathetic old hag you ever did see.

It is just embarrassing. And it's not just that any more. It's dangerous and I don't like it. It's stupid.

Please please please tell me what to do. What do you do? Is it just me? Is it because I've been off The Pill for almost a year now? Is it because the moon was doing some crazy shit this weekend? Is it because I don't live with a man any more so I'm not inhaling enough 'keep your hair on luv' pheromones? Is it because men have monthly cycles too and mine clashes with the man I'm spending time with now? Is it because I drank six pints in three hours (erm, possibly... skip over that point.) Is it because it's nearly my birthday? Is it because the weather's funny? How can I stop it?

I eat well (okay, I eat better than I ever have done before.) I go out at lunchtimes and walk by the river and get the sun on me. When I think negative things I just let them slide and tell myself how cool I am. I speak to my family regularly (hell, I even went to see them this month.) I see my friends (okay, maybe not as much this month, but I still see them and email them and stuff.) I am loved and I do love. I laugh every day. I have done everything to keep my mental health in check and I am fine, and I'm not depressed and I don't think I ever have been. Normally everything is okay.

There must be something to prevent/cure suddenly feeling as though the whole world is wrong? I know when it's going to happen because I've been religiously keeping a diary (so, yes, self-fulfilling prophecy maybe) and I know that yes, I shouldn't have had so much to drink and you know, so on and so forth, but I thought maybe there might be pills? Or some magic food? Or something? Anything? I hate being a slave to my body, wonderful and mysterious and sexy as it is. I need to get back some control.

Tell me what to do...

Yesterday:

Cereal and yoghurt
Bottle of water on commute in
3 or 4 glasses of water
One banana, one apple (forgot to take in lunch, am skint.)
5 or 6 glasses of water
Half a bottle of water on the commute home
Monkfish, potato and watercress salad (cooked for me by someone else, I hasten to add)
Half a bottle dry white wine

edit: ooo, and a clementine on the way over to Toots.

Today - so far:

Half a bottle of water
23 maltesers stolen from big box in the office fridge.

Why do I bother?