2002-11-22 at 10:14 a.m.

Gasping, flailing. Water was filling my mouth and nose at an alarming rate, cutting off my air. Choking, I struggled upwards, towards the light, towards the blessed oxygen...

And woke up.

With my head in a puddle of drool the size of a hubcap.

A completely accurate representation of Michelle sleeping, except that Michelle isn't bald. Yet.

I lifted my head. The pillow came with it.

I peeled it carefully off my face, and looked at the sodden remains of what had, previously, been a rather comfortable pillow.

"Christ, that's a lot of drool."

This is what happens when I go to bed as tired as I did last night. The stress and practise is really starting to get to me, I think. Oh well, only four days, four hours, and six minutes to go...

Four days, four hours, and six minutes...

Eep.

And to top it all off, another Lieutenant has been added to the armies of paranoia marching behind my eyes...

A few nights ago, I was helping out at my friend Michelle's recital. Before the concert, I was standing in the foyer, chatting with Michelle's fiancee, an Irish chappie called Matt. I mentioned that my recital was coming up in the next week.

"Are you going to attempt to play it all from memory again?" Matt asked. Matt had seen my recital at the end of the previous year, where I played all my pieces from memory.

"Yes" I said.

"Hey, remember last year, when you forgot how that piece went?"

"I did not forget!"

As a matter of fact, I kinda sorta did. My brain switched off for a few moments, causing my face to contort into what I'm sure was a hilarious expression of extreme panic. However, my hands, reliable appendages that they are, continued on without the help of my brain. So, technically, I didn't forget, and that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Meanwhile, Matt was doing spirited impressions of the expression on my face.

I would have taken him on and fought for my honour, but he's in the army, and therefore has access to an arsenal of weapons, and a knowledge of Taiwanese Strangle Holds.

Plus, I'm a cowardly, limp-wristed little crybaby.

So now I've become paranoid about forgetting the music. Thanks a lot, Matt. As if I didn't have enough to be paranoid about.

And will you please shut up down there, Gary!