Dear Diary. Girlfriend’s sick leave starts today. She's on sick leave because she's pregnant. Now she can stay at home, lie on the sofa and mooch off society while the fetus gestates in her belly.

Already I don't like Girlfriend being at home. Usually, I work during the day (when I’m not writing about my sad life, that is, like right now, for example). But today, while I’m trying to work, Girlfriend is 1) watching TV, 2) listening to the radio and 3) and playing Instagram videos on her phone. All three things simultaneously. I guess at least she’s being efficient because she’s multitasking? Unlike me; I can’t even focus on one task because of all the noise.

Usually, I would put my ear defenders on. These are things loggers use them to protect the ears from the noise of their chainsaws and other heavy machinery. Whereas I use them to block out the noise of Girlfriend. When I put the ear defenders on, they knock 20 decibels off her.

But I can't wear them because I can't let anything touch the top of my head. It's now day eight after my hair transplant surgery and I still have to take precautions. No exercise and nothing can touch the top of my head. Otherwise, the newly implanted hairs could fall out.

I wish I could go out and do some exercise. Not for the exercise itself, but just to be around people other than my girlfriend and son. It's the social aspect of exercise that I miss. And the excuse to get away from my girlfriend and son.

To think: I used to have such golden, beautiful hair! When I went to the hairdresser as a kid, the hairdresser would admire the beauty of my hair and say "You have is the most golden hair I have ever seen." And when the hairdresser cut my hair, like Delilah cutting the hair of Samson, my hair would fall to the floor, there to lay among the dull black of hair from previous customers (I don't know why the hairdresser didn't sweep the floor between customers.) There, on the floor, my hair would shine brightly like gold. Such a contrast my hair made!

My mom even snipped off a lock of my hair and kept it. It’s still in my dad's loft even to this day: a lock of my hair from when I was about three. It's still a golden colour. I wonder if anyone would notice if I stuck it back on to my head with sellotape.

My wonderful hair is gone now of course. Even if I could grow my hair back now it would no longer be the golden, luxurious hair I used to have. It would just be a rubbish black colour. And I know that because that's the colour of my brother's hair now.