Ho hum. Well, today I ate
a bowl of muesli I'd made myself
two tangerines
a chicken wrap
more muesli
two more tangerines.
I am unsure of how much the second lot of muesli came to. I felt sick after eating it, maybe this is because I've ate too much of it. I think so. Anyway, it's better than yesterday when I ate 1400; I don't need that many calories.
I'm denying the amount of work I've got to do at the moment.
The director of the play I'm in asked me not to be so late to a rehearsal he hadn't told me about today. He apologised later. He's nice but I don't really get on with him; we have all these weird silences, which make me feel weird because he's so perky with everyone else. And it's a hangover from my schooldays that I don't enjoy being reproved; I feel embarrassed, even if I haven't done anything wrong and I find it difficult to stick up for myself, resorting to a surly monotone.
Here are a list of things I shall do after my last exam:
wax my armpits
get very drunk
have a completely leisurely sunday with no prospect of work hanging over my head.
I can't think of anymore. This is how bad it's gotten. And that is all I want, at the moment. Here are some things I must do
1. Three essays
2. Exam revision
3. Learn my lines properly and emotively
4. Contact work experience for summer.
Monday 30 April 2007
Saturday 28 April 2007
Deprivation
Today I kept to the calories, which was surprising; I went down to the kitchen and I was sure I'd crack, but no, 1200 it was.
Tortellini and pesto
an apple and yoghurt
a brie and cranberry roll, of which I left a little
porridge with yoghurt, sultanas and pumpkin seeds
There.
Deprivation isn't the title of that. Deprivation is what I am going through socially; a group of my friends went out tonight, but I can't go as I've got work. I went to the pre-going out get together, which was lovely. One of my friends kissed a girl last night, and thinks she might go out with her; I had an inkling she was bisexual but wasn't really sure. I had a crush on her when we first met, but it's dwindled. I've got a problem in that if I meet someone I like, I build up this perfect image of them and then when they don't conform my opinions of them are shaken; I'm not speaking of appearances, they don't bother me in the slightest, it's the actions or thoughts they have which penetrate my consciousness. She, for example (this girl) is very self centred; she thinks so much of herself she doesn't realise what else is going on, not in a nasty way, just in a dozy sort of way. She chatters an awful lot because she's terrified of being seen as ignorant or not driven, because intelligence and drive are (she believes) her saving characteristics. I know she'd do a lot for me though. I'm jealous of how easy it was for her just to say that she liked this girl; I should make things easier for myself but I hide everything. Anyway, they all trundled off to dance and drink somewhere fun and I'm in my room with an unmade bed, rambling at a blog which noone reads. It could be worse.
Anyway, I'm not going out until the eighteenth. This is when the workload eases, then I only have to think about my dissertation, which is really exciting, but also terrifying. Tomorrow I will get my arse to a library and work properly on my essay. Nineteen days before The End of Work. I'd enjoy it if there weren't such a magnitude of it.
Tortellini and pesto
an apple and yoghurt
a brie and cranberry roll, of which I left a little
porridge with yoghurt, sultanas and pumpkin seeds
There.
Deprivation isn't the title of that. Deprivation is what I am going through socially; a group of my friends went out tonight, but I can't go as I've got work. I went to the pre-going out get together, which was lovely. One of my friends kissed a girl last night, and thinks she might go out with her; I had an inkling she was bisexual but wasn't really sure. I had a crush on her when we first met, but it's dwindled. I've got a problem in that if I meet someone I like, I build up this perfect image of them and then when they don't conform my opinions of them are shaken; I'm not speaking of appearances, they don't bother me in the slightest, it's the actions or thoughts they have which penetrate my consciousness. She, for example (this girl) is very self centred; she thinks so much of herself she doesn't realise what else is going on, not in a nasty way, just in a dozy sort of way. She chatters an awful lot because she's terrified of being seen as ignorant or not driven, because intelligence and drive are (she believes) her saving characteristics. I know she'd do a lot for me though. I'm jealous of how easy it was for her just to say that she liked this girl; I should make things easier for myself but I hide everything. Anyway, they all trundled off to dance and drink somewhere fun and I'm in my room with an unmade bed, rambling at a blog which noone reads. It could be worse.
Anyway, I'm not going out until the eighteenth. This is when the workload eases, then I only have to think about my dissertation, which is really exciting, but also terrifying. Tomorrow I will get my arse to a library and work properly on my essay. Nineteen days before The End of Work. I'd enjoy it if there weren't such a magnitude of it.
Cupidity.
I am writing this to stop myself eating. I am in the middle of researching an essay, and I'm tense and bored. I don't need food but it provides a break. It's seven pm and I've eaten nine hundred calories so far today; no sugar. So I don't need anything else for an hour and a half at least.
I was asked if something on this blog could appear in a book. It's dealing with my father. The thing is, I don't know if my skewed point of view going into a book is a necessarily good thing; I've never been committed, or sent to psychologists, but I think I do write from a biased perspective, as does everyone, which gets incredibly self indulgent. I'm not sure that I want that view of my father paraded around, albeit anonymously. I feel that I should have the guts to tell him what I've written before I allow it to be published overseas. Here I am overanalysing everything, all over again.
Anyway, I thought I would write some nice things about my Dad, as usually I only ever whine about him and everything else.
1. He is always proud of us, and says that when I was born was the happiest day of his life. He drew a graph to illustrate this; it's middling, then when I'm born it shoots up.
2. He loves us so much that he wants to give us all the opportunity he can. He'd never leave us, like some Dads do; if he and Mum split up, they'd both be there, no questions asked.
3. There's a video of us all on holiday; we'd rented a caravan. I'm about seven, my brother is two, and my Dad is making us laugh so much by doing silly voices for all of my brother's trains. Remembering it makes me really happy. I can remember my stomach aching, from where I laughed so much. I am sure that there must be so many moments like this, it's just that the bad ones stick in my head easier. And the bad ones aren't that bad- it's usually him pushing me too far academically, I wish I'd remember the better ones like these.
4. He once watched a dance show I was in and tried hard to say positive things about it, though neither of my parents can abide dancing (they think it leads to eating disorders and deformed feet).
5. He offers me money but wants me to be independent as well, and never likes to meddle, though he does want to be involved. He learns his lesson; he used to push me a lot at school, but eventually (when I was fifteen, after tears and many arguments about why he wouldn 't trust me to push myself) he left off. And apologised when my marks went up, for annoying me.
6. He can admit when he's wrong. We were having an argument, or he and Mum were- I can't remember. And I said, "God, you love playing the martyr don't you?" He said he realised then that maybe he did, and that he's been on his guard about it ever since.
I am guilty of cupidity. I want everything; a perfect figure, a perfect grade, a perfect relationship- without putting in a lot of graft. It feels like I graft away, but I know really that it's not enough. I should do more exercise, and more work. I can admit when I'm wrong too.
Here is a list of things I like about myself:
My untidy eyebrows
My hair
My long fingernails
I am very independent, and proud.
I'll think of more.
I was asked if something on this blog could appear in a book. It's dealing with my father. The thing is, I don't know if my skewed point of view going into a book is a necessarily good thing; I've never been committed, or sent to psychologists, but I think I do write from a biased perspective, as does everyone, which gets incredibly self indulgent. I'm not sure that I want that view of my father paraded around, albeit anonymously. I feel that I should have the guts to tell him what I've written before I allow it to be published overseas. Here I am overanalysing everything, all over again.
Anyway, I thought I would write some nice things about my Dad, as usually I only ever whine about him and everything else.
1. He is always proud of us, and says that when I was born was the happiest day of his life. He drew a graph to illustrate this; it's middling, then when I'm born it shoots up.
2. He loves us so much that he wants to give us all the opportunity he can. He'd never leave us, like some Dads do; if he and Mum split up, they'd both be there, no questions asked.
3. There's a video of us all on holiday; we'd rented a caravan. I'm about seven, my brother is two, and my Dad is making us laugh so much by doing silly voices for all of my brother's trains. Remembering it makes me really happy. I can remember my stomach aching, from where I laughed so much. I am sure that there must be so many moments like this, it's just that the bad ones stick in my head easier. And the bad ones aren't that bad- it's usually him pushing me too far academically, I wish I'd remember the better ones like these.
4. He once watched a dance show I was in and tried hard to say positive things about it, though neither of my parents can abide dancing (they think it leads to eating disorders and deformed feet).
5. He offers me money but wants me to be independent as well, and never likes to meddle, though he does want to be involved. He learns his lesson; he used to push me a lot at school, but eventually (when I was fifteen, after tears and many arguments about why he wouldn 't trust me to push myself) he left off. And apologised when my marks went up, for annoying me.
6. He can admit when he's wrong. We were having an argument, or he and Mum were- I can't remember. And I said, "God, you love playing the martyr don't you?" He said he realised then that maybe he did, and that he's been on his guard about it ever since.
I am guilty of cupidity. I want everything; a perfect figure, a perfect grade, a perfect relationship- without putting in a lot of graft. It feels like I graft away, but I know really that it's not enough. I should do more exercise, and more work. I can admit when I'm wrong too.
Here is a list of things I like about myself:
My untidy eyebrows
My hair
My long fingernails
I am very independent, and proud.
I'll think of more.
Tuesday 24 April 2007
Adolescence.
Adolescence was not particularly painful for me; I was a chubby, short child with bad teeth and awkward social habits. My parents had always loved me and been proud of my school marks, but I wasn't pushy enough of boundaries; I was happy to be good in the classroom; I didn't want anyone to dislike me, especially the teachers, because I liked them. My parents encouraged me to be naughty and have fun, but I was having fun. They just wanted me to be socially accepted which leads to fun, I suppose. When I hit fourteen, and got my period, I was thrilled; it was the first sign of maturity. I had hoped for it for quite a while. I also grew up, which added the effect of slimming out; I was no longer so fat, I looked as if I'd lost weight; others asked if I was bulimic. At that point, I was happy around food.
I got braces, which were none so hideous as my teeth, and because of my previous ugliness people began to think of me as comparatively pretty, and I became less socially inept. I took up dancing and became more graceful.
Because of all these things, I was not self conscious during adolescence; I'd gone through it before, in my ugly stage, when I had believed that society taking me at face value was wrong (I ascribed to this thought because some people liked me; and if they liked me looking as I did, nothing could be based on looks). Now it returns; I feel ugly and fat, worse than before, maybe because I am, no matter how I euphemistically address myself as quirky. I feel that I am paying penance. I wear a sweatshirt and t-shirt to disguise my concave chest, and makeup to alter my face. I try and cover my flab; I don't think there is much I like about myself, and this is why I cover it all up; I don't want anyone to see me really because they would be disgusted. I'm not commenting merely on the aesthetic anymore.
My sister is going through the same thing at the moment; she is only a decade old. She is chubby, yes, but not obese. Seven stone, and at least four feet eight at ten years old. She is beautiful; the little elf, my grandma used to call her. Well, she is not little, but her face is delicate and pixie-ish as neither of ours are. She pulls at her T-shirts to make them baggier, and hunches. I know that this is the worst thing to do; if you are confident others believe it. I blame myself, for having a silly five-hundred calorie a day phase when she was about seven, and I obviously received a lot of attention. My sister is a perfectionist, even at this young age, and my Mum is intending to take her on many bike rides (but not mention weight) to help her lose it. I don't think anything should be done; she's got a fairly healthy attitude to food (she needs to eat more if anything) and she's excessively sensitive; she'll spot weight loss attempts a mile off. If she doesn't lose it, she's failed and is still unacceptable; if she loses weight and becomes confident, she equates success with weight loss and becomes anorexic. She will later, I think. Lose weight and become anorexic. She'll slim out at puberty, like us, and then succumb to the lure of perfection, like me. She needs confidence building to avoid the latter; she doesn't need to try and lose weight now. I think a chubby childhood made me stronger, and that it isn't the worst thing to happen. Other's reactions make you think fat is the worst thing ever, and I don't want my sister to learn this. She already has, but I'm hoping that joining a drama club, something for her not to do with food, will be healing. I don't know why my Mum's so hung up on it; she doesn't want her daughter to be outcast, she wants her to be confident and feel good about herself. But I don't think this should be equated with weight loss, my sister is intelligent and does lots of sport; she is liked, I think. So why change her? I think weight loss attempts will be futile; we were all doomed to a chubby childhood. Genes are a bitch.
I got braces, which were none so hideous as my teeth, and because of my previous ugliness people began to think of me as comparatively pretty, and I became less socially inept. I took up dancing and became more graceful.
Because of all these things, I was not self conscious during adolescence; I'd gone through it before, in my ugly stage, when I had believed that society taking me at face value was wrong (I ascribed to this thought because some people liked me; and if they liked me looking as I did, nothing could be based on looks). Now it returns; I feel ugly and fat, worse than before, maybe because I am, no matter how I euphemistically address myself as quirky. I feel that I am paying penance. I wear a sweatshirt and t-shirt to disguise my concave chest, and makeup to alter my face. I try and cover my flab; I don't think there is much I like about myself, and this is why I cover it all up; I don't want anyone to see me really because they would be disgusted. I'm not commenting merely on the aesthetic anymore.
My sister is going through the same thing at the moment; she is only a decade old. She is chubby, yes, but not obese. Seven stone, and at least four feet eight at ten years old. She is beautiful; the little elf, my grandma used to call her. Well, she is not little, but her face is delicate and pixie-ish as neither of ours are. She pulls at her T-shirts to make them baggier, and hunches. I know that this is the worst thing to do; if you are confident others believe it. I blame myself, for having a silly five-hundred calorie a day phase when she was about seven, and I obviously received a lot of attention. My sister is a perfectionist, even at this young age, and my Mum is intending to take her on many bike rides (but not mention weight) to help her lose it. I don't think anything should be done; she's got a fairly healthy attitude to food (she needs to eat more if anything) and she's excessively sensitive; she'll spot weight loss attempts a mile off. If she doesn't lose it, she's failed and is still unacceptable; if she loses weight and becomes confident, she equates success with weight loss and becomes anorexic. She will later, I think. Lose weight and become anorexic. She'll slim out at puberty, like us, and then succumb to the lure of perfection, like me. She needs confidence building to avoid the latter; she doesn't need to try and lose weight now. I think a chubby childhood made me stronger, and that it isn't the worst thing to happen. Other's reactions make you think fat is the worst thing ever, and I don't want my sister to learn this. She already has, but I'm hoping that joining a drama club, something for her not to do with food, will be healing. I don't know why my Mum's so hung up on it; she doesn't want her daughter to be outcast, she wants her to be confident and feel good about herself. But I don't think this should be equated with weight loss, my sister is intelligent and does lots of sport; she is liked, I think. So why change her? I think weight loss attempts will be futile; we were all doomed to a chubby childhood. Genes are a bitch.
Embarrassed by myself.
Sadly, even my calorific triumph is marred today. I realise I am still tied fast to stupid dreams.
a bagel with cream cheese; pesto on one half, honey the other (400)
a tuna and cheese sandwich with a tomato (400)
an orange- 20
some sultanas and pumpkin seeds -100
mushroom, broccoli and onion stir fry with rice and egg. (400)
It would have been more if not for an impromptu reminder I should have been practising the play, which I was glad of.
I think I still like her, definitely as a friend, if not more. Bombazine doll. Today we were with another friend, and the subject of infidelity came up; she said she'd cheat on someone if she hated them, or if she felt trapped and liked the person. The second one, I think, is me. She probably went through a phase of the first as well. She doesn't know that I know, or is submerging it. I think her approach to things is definitely that if it hurts, there is no need for it to be said. Which is less painful for me. I hate myself for being so fixated; I haven't usually stayed friends with people after dumping. I hate that I have to write it all out here, all my fixation on paper; at least I know it is a ridiculous and unreciprocated fixation. It is not reality. Anyway, she has got a perfect girlfriend. And this is best for her; she deserves the best. And we are friends again, proper friends.
I just feel so much. I am listening to Into The West, by Annie Lennox, and Paper Bag by Fiona Apple. I think I am most annoyed that everyone wants a slim pretty girl. Everyone in the world does. Or someone intelligent, and I have ceased to feel either. I find to be described as womanly insulting, but I find the same with manly or girlish; the only thing left is boyish, then. I suppose boyish is a good way to be described; mischevious, slender, honest and forthright. I would have said I was manly, if anything; but she said I was womanly.
a bagel with cream cheese; pesto on one half, honey the other (400)
a tuna and cheese sandwich with a tomato (400)
an orange- 20
some sultanas and pumpkin seeds -100
mushroom, broccoli and onion stir fry with rice and egg. (400)
It would have been more if not for an impromptu reminder I should have been practising the play, which I was glad of.
I think I still like her, definitely as a friend, if not more. Bombazine doll. Today we were with another friend, and the subject of infidelity came up; she said she'd cheat on someone if she hated them, or if she felt trapped and liked the person. The second one, I think, is me. She probably went through a phase of the first as well. She doesn't know that I know, or is submerging it. I think her approach to things is definitely that if it hurts, there is no need for it to be said. Which is less painful for me. I hate myself for being so fixated; I haven't usually stayed friends with people after dumping. I hate that I have to write it all out here, all my fixation on paper; at least I know it is a ridiculous and unreciprocated fixation. It is not reality. Anyway, she has got a perfect girlfriend. And this is best for her; she deserves the best. And we are friends again, proper friends.
I just feel so much. I am listening to Into The West, by Annie Lennox, and Paper Bag by Fiona Apple. I think I am most annoyed that everyone wants a slim pretty girl. Everyone in the world does. Or someone intelligent, and I have ceased to feel either. I find to be described as womanly insulting, but I find the same with manly or girlish; the only thing left is boyish, then. I suppose boyish is a good way to be described; mischevious, slender, honest and forthright. I would have said I was manly, if anything; but she said I was womanly.
Monday 23 April 2007
I thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag.
One of my friends today remarked upon eating carbs before bed that it should never be done. I wondered if this was specifically for my own benefit. I also saw Amazing Grace; it's pretty good.
I ate
an apple (40)
3/4 of a houmous and chargrilled vegetable baguette (400)
tortellini (400)
tomatoes(20)
a banana (100)
some apricots (120)
a handful of sultanas (70)
more tomatoes (20)
two slices of toast and marmite (200)
1350- not as good as yesterday but not horrendous. It could have been worse.
Today I got some wonderful news, academically. I'm going to do a thesis, which is lovely. I got so excited that someone would have that much faith in the question I'm posing myself that I squeaked a little bit.
I sometimes wonder if one specific member of my friendship group is alright within herself. I feel that she has to always pretend to be having a wonderful time, even when she isn't, not even convincingly. I do this as well, but I do worry about her; I think she puts on a veneer of fun which wears thin and grates, and then feels she isn't close to people as she should be. It's nothing she's said, it's just the way she is. She tries to get boyfriends by going for them even if she isn't a hundred percent sure she likes them; and it's seldom successful. One of my other friends has a similar problem, though they're both attracted to completely different people; the first adores skinny rock men, the second the rugby bloke with his flash car. I think they both need someone else to tell them they're wonderful and are so intent on proving it that they can't escape that. I'm glad I don't have to kid myself I'm having fun; that would be exhausting. I'm also glad that I don't sustain relationships with people I dislike.
I ate
an apple (40)
3/4 of a houmous and chargrilled vegetable baguette (400)
tortellini (400)
tomatoes(20)
a banana (100)
some apricots (120)
a handful of sultanas (70)
more tomatoes (20)
two slices of toast and marmite (200)
1350- not as good as yesterday but not horrendous. It could have been worse.
Today I got some wonderful news, academically. I'm going to do a thesis, which is lovely. I got so excited that someone would have that much faith in the question I'm posing myself that I squeaked a little bit.
I sometimes wonder if one specific member of my friendship group is alright within herself. I feel that she has to always pretend to be having a wonderful time, even when she isn't, not even convincingly. I do this as well, but I do worry about her; I think she puts on a veneer of fun which wears thin and grates, and then feels she isn't close to people as she should be. It's nothing she's said, it's just the way she is. She tries to get boyfriends by going for them even if she isn't a hundred percent sure she likes them; and it's seldom successful. One of my other friends has a similar problem, though they're both attracted to completely different people; the first adores skinny rock men, the second the rugby bloke with his flash car. I think they both need someone else to tell them they're wonderful and are so intent on proving it that they can't escape that. I'm glad I don't have to kid myself I'm having fun; that would be exhausting. I'm also glad that I don't sustain relationships with people I dislike.
Sunday 22 April 2007
I'm not even short.
Today I ate:
a bagel and cream cheese
dried apricots
a bowl of muesli
a vegetable stir fry with noodles
Now, this is definitely under 1200, and the sort of thing I should be aiming at. I think the muesli had sugar in it, which perturbs me. Today has been difficult; not because I wanted sugar, quite the opposite; we are all back at university and everyone brings out sugary treats to celebrate with. I despise this; I hate seeming as if I am a calorie counting freak who is also fat, thus failing to have fun and failing to lose weight at the same time. Yet, I refuse them. I pretend to eat them and then leave them on the side, but it is so difficult; I want to be included but I can't eat those foods and keep to my goal. It's pointless eating them when I feel no desire for them, but I detest the wastefulness I cause nursing a plate of cake or some such.
My mission to give up sugar has been spurred on by finding that a mutual friend has met bombazine doll's actual girlfriend; and she is petite, slim and gorgeous and intelligent looking, he says, and he's got high standards. This made me sick to my stomach- the girl I thought she loved was, at least, chubby and (I think) a little bit annoying. Knowing she had someone better than me in every way all along makes me nauseous; every time she was with me, I was second best in her eyes, and now I am second best in my own as well. I can't compete; being "quirky" looking. She still tells me I am slim, but that is a lie; for a few seconds I thought she'd left me because I'm fat. But then I realised I was displacing- it's because I'm not the one that she left me. And the one happens to be thin, which she probably adores. Ugh. Anyway, the most annoying thing is that I'm not really attracted to her anymore- I just wanted to be the first to find someone else, or failing that, to lose weight and look beautiful on it. Pah, neither have really happened. She must see me as some sort of charity case. That's why she's invited me for lunch; I'm a cause that needs work doing. The exacerbation I feel at my own obsessional ravings increases as I realise that I really was beginning not to care, until I find my replacement is so much better than I am. I'm not even short.
The virginia shootings make me wonder if I will ever do such a thing; I don't think I would. I do like horror films, and this blog keeps me sane, as do drawing and writing. But I do obsess; I suppose the key is to recognise and restrain your own morbid faculties as opposed to letting them run riot. Also, I am a woman and women are statistically less likely to shoot or kill, preferring to turn in on themselves, as I so frequently do (via criticism, not self harm or anything so self indulgent). I wonder why nobody has looked at the paedophile angle- it appears that he was obviously molested. Nobody could fixate so much upon rape, as a metaphor and as a reality in creative writing, that it hadn't happened to. The two plays I read (and they were horrendously written, which relieved me; he is no tortured genius) were profane, which I don't object to, but they lack a sense of movement through phases; they're simply stuck. I also don't understand the banning of his name; this will glorify its mention even more. Or the dubbing of him as "evil". Noone is born evil. I despise the word as applied to a confused and angry boy that got hold of a weapon and used it as a penis extension. I also despise the article in the Times that suggests he's a product of the decline of patriarchy; if matriarchy is getting a chance now, then the men can like it or lump it, as we did for two millenia.
a bagel and cream cheese
dried apricots
a bowl of muesli
a vegetable stir fry with noodles
Now, this is definitely under 1200, and the sort of thing I should be aiming at. I think the muesli had sugar in it, which perturbs me. Today has been difficult; not because I wanted sugar, quite the opposite; we are all back at university and everyone brings out sugary treats to celebrate with. I despise this; I hate seeming as if I am a calorie counting freak who is also fat, thus failing to have fun and failing to lose weight at the same time. Yet, I refuse them. I pretend to eat them and then leave them on the side, but it is so difficult; I want to be included but I can't eat those foods and keep to my goal. It's pointless eating them when I feel no desire for them, but I detest the wastefulness I cause nursing a plate of cake or some such.
My mission to give up sugar has been spurred on by finding that a mutual friend has met bombazine doll's actual girlfriend; and she is petite, slim and gorgeous and intelligent looking, he says, and he's got high standards. This made me sick to my stomach- the girl I thought she loved was, at least, chubby and (I think) a little bit annoying. Knowing she had someone better than me in every way all along makes me nauseous; every time she was with me, I was second best in her eyes, and now I am second best in my own as well. I can't compete; being "quirky" looking. She still tells me I am slim, but that is a lie; for a few seconds I thought she'd left me because I'm fat. But then I realised I was displacing- it's because I'm not the one that she left me. And the one happens to be thin, which she probably adores. Ugh. Anyway, the most annoying thing is that I'm not really attracted to her anymore- I just wanted to be the first to find someone else, or failing that, to lose weight and look beautiful on it. Pah, neither have really happened. She must see me as some sort of charity case. That's why she's invited me for lunch; I'm a cause that needs work doing. The exacerbation I feel at my own obsessional ravings increases as I realise that I really was beginning not to care, until I find my replacement is so much better than I am. I'm not even short.
The virginia shootings make me wonder if I will ever do such a thing; I don't think I would. I do like horror films, and this blog keeps me sane, as do drawing and writing. But I do obsess; I suppose the key is to recognise and restrain your own morbid faculties as opposed to letting them run riot. Also, I am a woman and women are statistically less likely to shoot or kill, preferring to turn in on themselves, as I so frequently do (via criticism, not self harm or anything so self indulgent). I wonder why nobody has looked at the paedophile angle- it appears that he was obviously molested. Nobody could fixate so much upon rape, as a metaphor and as a reality in creative writing, that it hadn't happened to. The two plays I read (and they were horrendously written, which relieved me; he is no tortured genius) were profane, which I don't object to, but they lack a sense of movement through phases; they're simply stuck. I also don't understand the banning of his name; this will glorify its mention even more. Or the dubbing of him as "evil". Noone is born evil. I despise the word as applied to a confused and angry boy that got hold of a weapon and used it as a penis extension. I also despise the article in the Times that suggests he's a product of the decline of patriarchy; if matriarchy is getting a chance now, then the men can like it or lump it, as we did for two millenia.
Wednesday 18 April 2007
A leopard never changes its spots
I just typed that a leopard never changes its sots. Yes, I am drunk and it was corrected. But that is ultimately true; a leopard never does change, internal or external, and the sots, those who hang about it, never change either, I write this because of my clever friend who never stops attempting to influence people.
I would have stayed in my allowance of 1200 today if I'd not consumed various beverages.
I wish I could...
do well at my degree
keep acting
stop relying on social pressures
And be thin. Obviously.
I spoke to a woman cab driver tonight. Her attitude is, if they create the mess why should I have to clear it up? But she wouldn't let anyone create mess anyway. A taxi fascist. As my friend is a controlling fascist. She wants everyone to fall in line with her.
I would have stayed in my allowance of 1200 today if I'd not consumed various beverages.
I wish I could...
do well at my degree
keep acting
stop relying on social pressures
And be thin. Obviously.
I spoke to a woman cab driver tonight. Her attitude is, if they create the mess why should I have to clear it up? But she wouldn't let anyone create mess anyway. A taxi fascist. As my friend is a controlling fascist. She wants everyone to fall in line with her.
Tuesday 10 April 2007
Pick pick pick away at me.
I have consumed:
two slices of marmite on toast (300)
an apple (40)
various dried fruits
crisp sticks and houmous (200)
a piece of garlic bread (50)
a quarter of a pizza (200)
4tbsps pasta and tomato sauce (150)
vegetable stew (300)
two slices of bread (200)
a bowl of raisin wheats (130)
A squash lolly (10)- I felt bad about these last two items as they've definitely got sugar in them.
About 1800. Crap. I need to do some serious restriction; no wonder I've been gaining weight. I'm eating better stuff (just) but so much more than I used to. It's all bollocks. If I hadn't ate the chipsticks or the raisin wheats, which, if I'm honest, I could have easily done without, I would be a lot better off. Tomorrow I will go on a run, then go to the library, and eat under my allowance for once.
I read an article on the sun goddess of the Shinto faith, Amertasu. It seems to be a prevalent ideology that the royal family should be related, directly or with some sort of selective relationship, with God. This occurs in all cultures. How strange, to invest a divine power in a set of humans who have been priviledged by birth only. I believe that this is because people are unable to accept the blame for their own lives; if the royal family, a family that is in fact ordinary, has been selected by a higher power or is in some way divine, you cannot possibly interfere with something so much greater than yourself. You cannot apportion blame to them; but you are free of decision and responsibility, and so cannot blame yourself for inaction. A grudging acceptance of circumstances follows.
I divest the same power to my bodily weight, which has as abstract an effect on who I am as the divinities, or the royal family. Not very much, cumulatively. It's just how much I let it bother me that matters, or if I am to let it bother me, then I should do something about it whilst I'm still young enough- I read that it's harder to lose weight as you grow older. It is the perception I want to give that makes me want to lose weight, and the attention I receive when I lose it. It's also the way clothes fit, and the loss of the thigh and knee chub. At the moment I am disturbed by my failure to fit into a dress that was loose, as well as my description as one of the three sturdiest among five. The tiny bloat that makes me look pregnant, my stumpy legs. There is no end to the holes I can pick in my own body.
two slices of marmite on toast (300)
an apple (40)
various dried fruits
crisp sticks and houmous (200)
a piece of garlic bread (50)
a quarter of a pizza (200)
4tbsps pasta and tomato sauce (150)
vegetable stew (300)
two slices of bread (200)
a bowl of raisin wheats (130)
A squash lolly (10)- I felt bad about these last two items as they've definitely got sugar in them.
About 1800. Crap. I need to do some serious restriction; no wonder I've been gaining weight. I'm eating better stuff (just) but so much more than I used to. It's all bollocks. If I hadn't ate the chipsticks or the raisin wheats, which, if I'm honest, I could have easily done without, I would be a lot better off. Tomorrow I will go on a run, then go to the library, and eat under my allowance for once.
I read an article on the sun goddess of the Shinto faith, Amertasu. It seems to be a prevalent ideology that the royal family should be related, directly or with some sort of selective relationship, with God. This occurs in all cultures. How strange, to invest a divine power in a set of humans who have been priviledged by birth only. I believe that this is because people are unable to accept the blame for their own lives; if the royal family, a family that is in fact ordinary, has been selected by a higher power or is in some way divine, you cannot possibly interfere with something so much greater than yourself. You cannot apportion blame to them; but you are free of decision and responsibility, and so cannot blame yourself for inaction. A grudging acceptance of circumstances follows.
I divest the same power to my bodily weight, which has as abstract an effect on who I am as the divinities, or the royal family. Not very much, cumulatively. It's just how much I let it bother me that matters, or if I am to let it bother me, then I should do something about it whilst I'm still young enough- I read that it's harder to lose weight as you grow older. It is the perception I want to give that makes me want to lose weight, and the attention I receive when I lose it. It's also the way clothes fit, and the loss of the thigh and knee chub. At the moment I am disturbed by my failure to fit into a dress that was loose, as well as my description as one of the three sturdiest among five. The tiny bloat that makes me look pregnant, my stumpy legs. There is no end to the holes I can pick in my own body.
Monday 9 April 2007
frustration
I just spent the last twenty minutes writing an entry, but my brother wanted to use the computer and I had to close it quickly. I detest the lack of privacy here; my mother rattles around coathangers in my room a lot, they're always sighing or doing something infantile (this is my sister- she is an infant, this is excusable). I love my family, I really do, but I do need my own space.
I don't know what to write now, I think I'll wait till I've got some privacy. I'm annoyed by the lack of people going away; I want to go on a run, but it's too late and I'd most probably get stabbed. Roll on tomorrow.
I don't know what to write now, I think I'll wait till I've got some privacy. I'm annoyed by the lack of people going away; I want to go on a run, but it's too late and I'd most probably get stabbed. Roll on tomorrow.
Saturday 7 April 2007
Tactical ways to work through the maze.
I am staying with my family at the moment because it is Easter. When I come home, I always revert to sedentary occupations and laziness. I do not complete work, or do exercise or eat well. I am ramifying these one by one. Even my language has gone to pot; is ramifying a word?
Anyway, I have begun going to the student library, which is exciting. It's not quite the same as the one at my university, but all of the codes are the same and the desks, though constructed differently, are of a similar wood. The people are the same; I haven't talked to them, but I can assume. It's a tweaked parallel universe that exists because of homogenity.
And with regards to eating, I am consuming over my allowance. My tactics have changed. I have decided to give up sugar, refined anyway. This means less calories in tea and coffee, which I drink lots of, no more squash in the water and no fizzy drinks, diet or otherwise. I wonder if I will be able to eliminate all foodstuffs eventually? Begin with sugar, end with air I suppose. Elimination wise. Today I have eaten:
two slices of marmite on toast
A bowl of muesli with pumpkin seeds, raisins and banana
Grapes
Quarter of an apple
four sticks and houmous
crisps and houmous
sultanas and pumpkin seeds as a snack
Potato and mushroom curry, cuisined by my father
I ate between a third and a half of the crisps, which is a ludicrous amount, and I have done very little exercise (throwing a ball around a basketball hoop doesn't really count). My skin is a mess; it's pasty and spotty at the best of times, but it appears to have erupted. I have been going without sugar since Tuesday and I plan to give myself a break this sunday to consume some easter eggs before I donate the rest of them to clamouring siblings, or better still the salvation army.
My father indulged in some light character assassination today. He feels we are distanced; he wanted me to know he cares a lot for me. The worst thing is, I know he cares a lot for me, and I care a lot for him. However, I find him irksome. I do not know why; whether this is an overhang from my school days, when he used to pressure me to achieve. I know he did this because he cares so much about me, and that good school marks lead to a good future; he has said so, many times, and I believe him. Maybe it is that he refers to "your mother" as opposed to his wife, or mum, and then attempts to divide his half of the family from hers, it seems to me. Or that I lose every argument we have, scholarly or otherwise. We are both obstinate, I know this much. He said I appear to be fixed on being different to everyone else, and said that, "you don't need to be, because you're a great kid". Which is lovely of him to say, only I don't feel I am trying to be different; I am just me, is all. I asked him why he thought this, and he replied with a vague, "oh, just the way you are sometimes. Don't worry about it, I'm probably wrong". I don't know. I love my Dad, I do. He works hard, and he feels useless if he's not breadwinning. He dotes on us and tells us all how proud of us he is. His father died young, when he was nine, and I know people whose fathers have died that would give their right arm to be in my shoes. It's worse because I get on well with my other family members; but I feel a pressure to be pleasing when I am with him that I don't feel with the rest. I don't know. Pleasing isn't the right word. I am far too old for these sort of angsts.
Anyway, I have begun going to the student library, which is exciting. It's not quite the same as the one at my university, but all of the codes are the same and the desks, though constructed differently, are of a similar wood. The people are the same; I haven't talked to them, but I can assume. It's a tweaked parallel universe that exists because of homogenity.
And with regards to eating, I am consuming over my allowance. My tactics have changed. I have decided to give up sugar, refined anyway. This means less calories in tea and coffee, which I drink lots of, no more squash in the water and no fizzy drinks, diet or otherwise. I wonder if I will be able to eliminate all foodstuffs eventually? Begin with sugar, end with air I suppose. Elimination wise. Today I have eaten:
two slices of marmite on toast
A bowl of muesli with pumpkin seeds, raisins and banana
Grapes
Quarter of an apple
four sticks and houmous
crisps and houmous
sultanas and pumpkin seeds as a snack
Potato and mushroom curry, cuisined by my father
I ate between a third and a half of the crisps, which is a ludicrous amount, and I have done very little exercise (throwing a ball around a basketball hoop doesn't really count). My skin is a mess; it's pasty and spotty at the best of times, but it appears to have erupted. I have been going without sugar since Tuesday and I plan to give myself a break this sunday to consume some easter eggs before I donate the rest of them to clamouring siblings, or better still the salvation army.
My father indulged in some light character assassination today. He feels we are distanced; he wanted me to know he cares a lot for me. The worst thing is, I know he cares a lot for me, and I care a lot for him. However, I find him irksome. I do not know why; whether this is an overhang from my school days, when he used to pressure me to achieve. I know he did this because he cares so much about me, and that good school marks lead to a good future; he has said so, many times, and I believe him. Maybe it is that he refers to "your mother" as opposed to his wife, or mum, and then attempts to divide his half of the family from hers, it seems to me. Or that I lose every argument we have, scholarly or otherwise. We are both obstinate, I know this much. He said I appear to be fixed on being different to everyone else, and said that, "you don't need to be, because you're a great kid". Which is lovely of him to say, only I don't feel I am trying to be different; I am just me, is all. I asked him why he thought this, and he replied with a vague, "oh, just the way you are sometimes. Don't worry about it, I'm probably wrong". I don't know. I love my Dad, I do. He works hard, and he feels useless if he's not breadwinning. He dotes on us and tells us all how proud of us he is. His father died young, when he was nine, and I know people whose fathers have died that would give their right arm to be in my shoes. It's worse because I get on well with my other family members; but I feel a pressure to be pleasing when I am with him that I don't feel with the rest. I don't know. Pleasing isn't the right word. I am far too old for these sort of angsts.
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