Day 115: I want wine.

This hasn't happened until now, but I have wanted wine twice today. The first time was at 8.30 this morning (!) when I saw a spunky boy while walking to work and thought how nice it would be to meet someone like him (actually him) for a glass of wine at some dimly lit cool-cave. The second time was at lunchtime while I was buying a cute french looking jumper and imagining other cool-fun party-like settings (think beat poet without the beat poetry) where a delicious glass of red would be perfect. And now my workmates are breaking out a pricey bottle of NZ Sauv B, so let's make that three times today I've wanted wine. Instead I am having a slice of toast, butterless (thanks liver cleanse), with fruit-only cherry jam, and a cup of detox tea. Sounds hideous, actually is quite refreshing and yummy. So I'm okay. And will stop complaining and hankering presently.

Day 114: I love rock 'n' roll.

Or do I? Today was the day of the corporate rock gig for charity, where I and a troupe of leggy, long-tousle-haired hotties, performed Joan Jett's "I Love Rock 'n' Roll". I have done this song so many times it's embarrassing. Indeed it is the track that turned me onto rock 'n 'roll at the tender age of three (I remember vividly the impact of that video on my baby retina and miniature psyche). And while our performance was perfectly rocking, the experience just brought up more of an alarming feeling I have been having lately: that I am over rock. I'm not over the music necessarily. I still love the thwumping gritty grr of a rock 'n' roll beat combined with greasy, stringy crunch guitar sounds. That's hot. But I'm completely yawned out on being a rock chick. I'm not sure I like the toughness of it all anymore. It feels ugly. I'm also not sure how visible I really want to be either. There's something ugly about that too. The freaky thing is, and what I'm almost scared to admit, is that I don't know if I want to be a rock star anymore. It sounds like a cop-out I know. It also feels like very weird territory because it's effectively me giving up on a dream I've had since I was a nipper; the one thing I've never doubted ever and have come back to time and time again. Maybe it's just that my idea of how I see "rock stardom" manifesting is changing. Maybe it's that I'm starting to distill down to the parts of the experience that really give me satisfaction. You see, what I've been realising lately is that my real endeavour and deep desire is to produce something creatively of which I am immensely proud and which feels perfect to me. I want to record a song in such a way that I just love it and would happily show it to any of the coolest, most amazing people in the world as an example of what I'm capable of. I realised a while ago that making art is cool because, while you can't control what happens in life, to a large extent you can control what happens in your art; you can make a little pocket of personal perfection, and in doing so more happily let life rage in chaos around you. So I am more interested in creating a product I like than being some jumped up dick prima donna rock star. You get me right? Really I suppose there's nothing at all wrong with shifting the focus off being a wanker and on to making something artistically satisfying. So we're cool. And I do still love rock 'n' roll (just in a more laid back, less embarrassingly in your face kind of way).

Day 113: demons.

Why is it that over the course of trying to live a life, the same problems and themes keep presenting themselves? It's like when we're born we're allocated our own set of guardian demon children to accompany us the rest of the way, and every time we think we've managed to lose the little fuckers, they tap us on the shoulder or boo us in the face to remind us they're never going away. Obviously, I have plenty of demons of my own. One used to be drinking, which I do seem to have managed to put on a leash and tie up in the yard for the time being. Another one is nail-biting. Pretty harmless that one (on account of it having soft little nails that couldn't hurt anyone if they tried). Another slightly more dangerous one though is my no motivation monster. It hates work of any kind, complains about the fact I have to do it at all, but offers no alternative solution to the small problem of staying alive. It's big on dreams and escape plans but hazy on actual how tos. It just throws clouds of discontent into the air and leaves them hanging there, making it impossible to see how one might reach the pretty locations hung tantalisingly in bubbles above. And it's a monster that visits with alarming regularity. I thought that with non-drinking and yoga-doing I had banished this negative little complainer, but it seems it's back. Usually its arrival is accompanied by internet searches on Ashram yoga holidays and courses on how to become a travel writer, as well as serious thoughts of returning to the farm to live with my Dad (I'm sure he'd be thrilled to have his adult daughter eating all his porridge, ice creams and chocolate bars in return for substandard knitting and cow feeding services). Usually I deal with it by eating 70% Lindt bars, watching Foxtel and going for strolls until something happens and my nasty house guest leaves. Due to liver cleansing, chocolate's off the menu. So it looks like it's up to yoga to save the day again. That's okay. When it comes to driving off demons, I am entirely confident yoga is the man for the job.

Day 112: corporate rock.

Did I mention that I have a corporate rock gig coming up in two days? No? As is often the case, this is a fundraiser for charity, and it happens to be being run by one of my current agency's most important clients. We found out today that one of said clients actually has to be involved in our act. And since I'm leading the act, that's going to mean interaction on stage between me and the client. Which is fine. Usually, and quite miraculously, my happy stage monster springs into life when I step out in front of a crowd. I do insane, confident, bolshy and "entertaining" things spontaneously and without qualms. At least, I always have done before. But before I would always have had a couple of JD's and cokes by the time I hit the stage. Not so this time. This time I will be sober baby, inescapably so. So this will be something of an interesting experiment, and one carried out in front of some kind of mega-important people. What, me worried? No way kiddo. I'm a born show-off. I will simply channel my inner 3-year-old and this gig will totally rock.

Day 111: liver alert.

In New Zealand, the phone number for emergency services is 111. Which is why I chose today to go into liver emergency mode. Not that I have a liver emergency. I'm pretty sure my liver's doing a lot better than it was one hundred and eleven days ago. But being the freak I am, and as I said I'd do it earlier, I have begun an eight week liver cleansing diet, the aim being to eek out any residual toxic havoc wreakers remaining in my ever-purer body. Why not right? I'm not drinking anyway, so why not take the opportunity to be my cleanest (most vomit-worthy to normal onlookers) self? Speaking of puritan, vomit-inducing behaviour, I'd better stop polishing my halo and trot off to yoga.

Day 110: boom, bam, bong.

Today Ben and I went into the band room to play loud and live for the first time in months. It was fun. The vibe was loud and punky, a bit scribbly round the edges, and we came up with about three new, vaguely unhinged ideas for songs. Weirdly though, I didn't feel the juice of excitement, hope and enthusiasm flow gushingly back into my heart and veins. While I had a good time and the songs were cool, as I left the place I felt the weight of starting a new live music project bearing heavily down on me. The posters of other more established bands staring from the walls reminded me of the competition, and the enormous amount of work and luck required to get anywhere in music. What's wrong with me? Where's my fearless energy and confidence? I think it has to do with a book I'm reading at the moment. It says that our modern-day goals and aspirations of fame and fortune go directly against what we need as humans to feel happy. It's making me rethink what I want out of life a little, and where my current trajectory is heading. So maybe I'll finish the book, get over the whole freak out, and get re-excited about being a superstar. Or maybe I won't. I'll let you know how it goes.

Day 109: pissed of with people.

Okay, so my little brother's new friend was a perfectly nice individual. Charming enough, sociable, pleasant and chatty. I can see why my brother likes him. But he's still definitely trouble as far as my brother's liver is concerned. Anyway, as I said yesterday, it's not up to me to tell anyone how to do things. People can do what they want, and take the consequences that come with. Stepping away from the company my brother keeps for a moment, I am only disappointed that people don't choose more often to be unselfish, considerate, and maybe just a little less mental some of the time. As humans we are by nature idiosyncratic. We do things in our own quirky little ways, and we don't always have the time to be considering how our actions will impact on others. I get this. But today I just got a little over being the one who is always stepping back from the insult, acknowledging the perpetrator's particular circumstances and forgiving the misdemeanour. I got over people and their ever so charming fucked-upness. I desired the company of some maybe mildly balanced individuals, who can stick to a plan to get together, handle spontaneous developments calmly, be pleasant and relaxed while they're around, and not freak out at the slightest provocation. So I went and had brunch with Niccola, one of the few uninsane, always pleasant and considerate people I know. And it was lovely, and I wasn't pissed off at all.