I read the aforementioned play the other day, and I find it captivating. It has stayed with me despite my reading other books in the interim; the role of Maggie is a role I would very much like myself. Albeit I can't do an irish accent, but I would love it.
It's so sad, and I can't put my finger on why. Usually the tragedy comes from a great height (especially the shakespearean); there must be a descent. There is a descent here, but the thing that amplifies it most is the inevitability of the whole affair, and the potential of these women; it is a fall from a height, but a height that was never attained. It's a tragedy before the reader enters into the text world.
Meryl Streep played Kate once, which made me think I wanted to as well but my gut instinct was that I'd like to be Maggie, or possibly Rose. I think playing a character with special needs would be a really good experience, because it's so hard to do well, and convincingly without seeming an utter twat.
I ate loads today, of sugar as well, because I was in London and my usual life rules were temporarily suspended. They're affixed now though.
Tuesday 22 May 2007
Monday 14 May 2007
Frustration and panic.
Well. Yesterday I went on a run and ate 1340, which isn't as bad as it could be but nowhere near as good either.
Today I have ate: an apple
two tangerines
a brie and roast vegetable panini
I estimate about 600 calories. I've also had tea but I tend to discount that. So six hundred left, and it's nearly seven, which isn't so bad. I think now I could eat... at home, a vegetable stir fry, and maybe later I could have muesli as well. That would be good. A vegetable stir fry with egg, or meat maybe. This thinking of food isn't good because I won't keep it up. I'm so scared of getting fatter, and I know that it's inevitable. Not if I keep off sugar, no. This isn't for tricks, this is for life.
My friends say I have lost weight. It's easier than the five hundred a day as well. Actually, that was really easy once I got into it. I am worried that because I don't feel nervous anymore (about the play or work) I'm not going to lose it anymore. I twitch more and eat less when I'm nervous which can only be a good thing.
I'm about a third of the way through writing an essay at the moment. It's horrendous. I hate it, and it hates me. I'm getting to the stage where I can't read properly anymore and all it is is bullet point after bullet point to discuss. This, then the exam, and it's all over, and I'm free. This essay is so hard that I'm looking forward to exam prep.
Today I have ate: an apple
two tangerines
a brie and roast vegetable panini
I estimate about 600 calories. I've also had tea but I tend to discount that. So six hundred left, and it's nearly seven, which isn't so bad. I think now I could eat... at home, a vegetable stir fry, and maybe later I could have muesli as well. That would be good. A vegetable stir fry with egg, or meat maybe. This thinking of food isn't good because I won't keep it up. I'm so scared of getting fatter, and I know that it's inevitable. Not if I keep off sugar, no. This isn't for tricks, this is for life.
My friends say I have lost weight. It's easier than the five hundred a day as well. Actually, that was really easy once I got into it. I am worried that because I don't feel nervous anymore (about the play or work) I'm not going to lose it anymore. I twitch more and eat less when I'm nervous which can only be a good thing.
I'm about a third of the way through writing an essay at the moment. It's horrendous. I hate it, and it hates me. I'm getting to the stage where I can't read properly anymore and all it is is bullet point after bullet point to discuss. This, then the exam, and it's all over, and I'm free. This essay is so hard that I'm looking forward to exam prep.
Tragic fatties.
Well, two things scared me weight wise today. I've ate a vegetable stir fry with egg and raisins and yoghurt- that was scary because I felt like before, I didn't want to stop snacking and I hate that feeling. The answer is to eat more regularly. That resulted in my waist increasing to 28.5 inches, but I remeasured without clothes and it was 27 again, so no spontaneous weight gain has occured. And my arse was 38.5. Unfortunately my chest is 36.5. I don't know why I expect my chest to increase when I lose weight, because it's never been well endowed. I suppose I do want this perfect physique... not that I want huge, page three girl boobs, but just a C cup instead of an A might be nice. 34A is such a depressing size; broad and flat like a prairie. Come on. If I wasn't flat chested I might not be as bendy, and I'd only find that boobs got in the way eventually.
The other thing was a woman today. She wasn't scary, just tragic. I tried not to stare. On campus there is a building which houses two shops that sell food and a cafe. I saw her first in one of the shops and then in the cafe. She had to weigh at least twenty stones. The tragedy was that she was wearing thin girl clothes. The feminist in me hates that I speak like this. Leggings, denim miniskirt, hoodie. It was all very... deluded? No, I think she knew how she looked. I am a bitch. Anyway, I only think like this because I worry that it could happen to me. I could be that one that everyone's staring at, it would only take a few cakes and bang, there I am, not a point of admiration but merely one of reference and disgust. It's difficult for fat people to be tragic as thin ones are.
I know another girl that's fat and has the silliest voice. That only serves to exacerbate the situation.
The other thing was a woman today. She wasn't scary, just tragic. I tried not to stare. On campus there is a building which houses two shops that sell food and a cafe. I saw her first in one of the shops and then in the cafe. She had to weigh at least twenty stones. The tragedy was that she was wearing thin girl clothes. The feminist in me hates that I speak like this. Leggings, denim miniskirt, hoodie. It was all very... deluded? No, I think she knew how she looked. I am a bitch. Anyway, I only think like this because I worry that it could happen to me. I could be that one that everyone's staring at, it would only take a few cakes and bang, there I am, not a point of admiration but merely one of reference and disgust. It's difficult for fat people to be tragic as thin ones are.
I know another girl that's fat and has the silliest voice. That only serves to exacerbate the situation.
Friday 11 May 2007
Planning, planning, only 3000 words and an exam left.
I've had a pretty good few days. I'm doing alright in the play, an improvement from the first night. I've also done one of my essays, which leaves one to go and an exam to revise for on the eighteenth, then it's over.
I don't know what I'm going to do without my play. It is the main reason I've been able to keep under 1200 a day, not only because it renders me permanently busy, but because when I am nervous I don't eat. It doesn't hurt that all the other girls are incredibly thin (comparatively) and so I feel that eating less is better for me. I tried on some clothes today that have become looser. I have ate today:
a bowl of muesli (300)
a smoothie (150)
an apple (40)
half a chicken wrap (150)
pasta tuna and tomato (400)
What happens when I go home for summer and all that food is on offer, and I'm a bit bored? I won't be doing as much exercise either. I'll get fat. Horribly fat. I need to divert, divert. I'll get a job. I'll go and exercise. I'll work on my dissertation.
My friends came to see the play on Tuesday (and said it was wonderful, but they're friends, aren't they?) and it's had a good review. I went to the library with two of them after and they said I'd got thin. I'd been feeling thin till then, but when they said it it was almost as if they'd jinxed me, and now I feel fatter than ever. Three of my essays are finished, and this is what is important.
I miss my friends and my social life. This play is eating into it, as are exams- I can't go out because of the time I must devote to my studies. If I'd done better earlier I wouldn't be in such a state now. It's all of my own making.
Let's institute some order on my disordered thoughts. Tomorrow there are two performances. So.
10am- be in the library and get some books
1pm-arrive for the matinee
5pm- back in the library for two hours
7pm- last performance
11pm- go out with cast.
Yes. That is my plan. And on campus I will drink a smoothie for breakfast at eleven, and have a boots meal for lunch. This could be substituted by soup or some such. I must take with me the dress, the books to return, I must wear my good luck necklace (because I wore it by accident tonight and I performed well. It must be the necklace). Yes.
I don't know what I'm going to do without my play. It is the main reason I've been able to keep under 1200 a day, not only because it renders me permanently busy, but because when I am nervous I don't eat. It doesn't hurt that all the other girls are incredibly thin (comparatively) and so I feel that eating less is better for me. I tried on some clothes today that have become looser. I have ate today:
a bowl of muesli (300)
a smoothie (150)
an apple (40)
half a chicken wrap (150)
pasta tuna and tomato (400)
What happens when I go home for summer and all that food is on offer, and I'm a bit bored? I won't be doing as much exercise either. I'll get fat. Horribly fat. I need to divert, divert. I'll get a job. I'll go and exercise. I'll work on my dissertation.
My friends came to see the play on Tuesday (and said it was wonderful, but they're friends, aren't they?) and it's had a good review. I went to the library with two of them after and they said I'd got thin. I'd been feeling thin till then, but when they said it it was almost as if they'd jinxed me, and now I feel fatter than ever. Three of my essays are finished, and this is what is important.
I miss my friends and my social life. This play is eating into it, as are exams- I can't go out because of the time I must devote to my studies. If I'd done better earlier I wouldn't be in such a state now. It's all of my own making.
Let's institute some order on my disordered thoughts. Tomorrow there are two performances. So.
10am- be in the library and get some books
1pm-arrive for the matinee
5pm- back in the library for two hours
7pm- last performance
11pm- go out with cast.
Yes. That is my plan. And on campus I will drink a smoothie for breakfast at eleven, and have a boots meal for lunch. This could be substituted by soup or some such. I must take with me the dress, the books to return, I must wear my good luck necklace (because I wore it by accident tonight and I performed well. It must be the necklace). Yes.
Wednesday 9 May 2007
My first run of the play.
Today was our first night of the play. It was hideous; not for everyone else, merely for me. It is horrible being talentless within a myriad of talent, and knowledge of this makes it worse.
My stage daughter was, inevitably, brilliant. She keeps saying how we could actually be related; I think she means that we could be mother and daughter, I the matronly elder and she the sprightly young thing. She is right; we are both pale. My features are a coarsened, thickened daguerrotype to her refined wrists and doll-like face. Of course, I am her elder. I detest this role, I know that anyone could play it better than I do. I just have to be more natural with it, and less nervous. I've got four more runs to make it right.
The worst thing? That everyone was brilliant, and this meant our director couldn't be honest with me about my shambling; he said he enjoyed watching me, but this is a face-saver as he couldn't say, "everyone was brilliant except you". I think she came tonight- I saw her in the audience, I think- and she hasn't spoken to me about it. If she'd loved it she would have texted. At the moment, I wish I was anyone apart from my fat old self. All the other girls onstage are beautiful, and petite. Even if I was to dye my hair blonde and wear lovely makeup, there is no way that I could be small or slim. I hate her seeing me act badly, and I hate this because I use her as a barometer. I hate the repercussion that this has on me, though it shouldn't.
Let's say I was the girl that plays my daughter. What then?
I would be academic and beautiful, and slim, and an amazing actress. I would be well liked and respected.
What have I got going for me that she hasn't? I'm down to earth, and sensible. Those are not characteristics I prize in myself. She doesn't need to be down to earth; her possibilities are spinning away off into the clouds, and she can go with them, whereas mine are securely tethered to boring topsoil. I can draw. She probably can as well. I'm flexible. So? I am proud and independent. She isn't exactly a doormat. I can't ever win.
I feel as if I want to cry with the hopelessness of competing against this. Then I remember that there are starving children with AIDS in Africa, so I should suck it up. I am so feeble.
My stage daughter was, inevitably, brilliant. She keeps saying how we could actually be related; I think she means that we could be mother and daughter, I the matronly elder and she the sprightly young thing. She is right; we are both pale. My features are a coarsened, thickened daguerrotype to her refined wrists and doll-like face. Of course, I am her elder. I detest this role, I know that anyone could play it better than I do. I just have to be more natural with it, and less nervous. I've got four more runs to make it right.
The worst thing? That everyone was brilliant, and this meant our director couldn't be honest with me about my shambling; he said he enjoyed watching me, but this is a face-saver as he couldn't say, "everyone was brilliant except you". I think she came tonight- I saw her in the audience, I think- and she hasn't spoken to me about it. If she'd loved it she would have texted. At the moment, I wish I was anyone apart from my fat old self. All the other girls onstage are beautiful, and petite. Even if I was to dye my hair blonde and wear lovely makeup, there is no way that I could be small or slim. I hate her seeing me act badly, and I hate this because I use her as a barometer. I hate the repercussion that this has on me, though it shouldn't.
Let's say I was the girl that plays my daughter. What then?
I would be academic and beautiful, and slim, and an amazing actress. I would be well liked and respected.
What have I got going for me that she hasn't? I'm down to earth, and sensible. Those are not characteristics I prize in myself. She doesn't need to be down to earth; her possibilities are spinning away off into the clouds, and she can go with them, whereas mine are securely tethered to boring topsoil. I can draw. She probably can as well. I'm flexible. So? I am proud and independent. She isn't exactly a doormat. I can't ever win.
I feel as if I want to cry with the hopelessness of competing against this. Then I remember that there are starving children with AIDS in Africa, so I should suck it up. I am so feeble.
Monday 7 May 2007
Atheist Rosaries and snuff.
Well, today I ate:
sultanas, oats and milk breakfast (350)
a plum (20)
a chicken wrap (400)
pasta and tuna with tomato (300)
sultanas and yoghurt (200)
So in the 1200s. Being in a play where I constantly worry about my acting, the standard of which languishes below that of my contemporaries, and my physical shape, which much can be said the same of, is doing good things for my eating patterns.
I tried on a dress today which was tight, but a jacket that I think has loosened slightly. My measurements are: 37-28-39. I hate, hate hate that my bust is smaller than my hips. That's not how a woman should be.
Anyway, atheist rosary. I wear a rosary in the play. It's a simple wooden thing with a metal cross tied to it. There are only thirty five beads, so it isn't a real one, but I adore it. It makes me feel safer when I have it hanging about my wrist; I loop it twice, and it feels as if it might fall off so I clutch the crucifix. It's something soothing to stroke. I decided that my character has only this and her daughter to keep her going; I will describe her life as if it's me:
This wood is warm, and he gave it to me, not that he believes at all in religion. The thing was that I could no longer hold his hand. My simple parochial bloom does not compare to worlds, worlds away. I found another hand to hold, but it never wrapped around mine in quite the same way, so I wrapped that warm wooden strand around it instead, knowing that the prayers I made were not for anything except my own reassurance.
My daughter, the one that he gave to me, she is beautiful. She isn't happy, poor dear. She's cold and strange, because she drowns her sorrows. She is that cross; made of cheap stuff, but infinitely precious. She is the only thing I can touch of his, his last reminder in her face. Me and he and her, we are all there. All warm wood and cold metal, in a house on a lake.
sultanas, oats and milk breakfast (350)
a plum (20)
a chicken wrap (400)
pasta and tuna with tomato (300)
sultanas and yoghurt (200)
So in the 1200s. Being in a play where I constantly worry about my acting, the standard of which languishes below that of my contemporaries, and my physical shape, which much can be said the same of, is doing good things for my eating patterns.
I tried on a dress today which was tight, but a jacket that I think has loosened slightly. My measurements are: 37-28-39. I hate, hate hate that my bust is smaller than my hips. That's not how a woman should be.
Anyway, atheist rosary. I wear a rosary in the play. It's a simple wooden thing with a metal cross tied to it. There are only thirty five beads, so it isn't a real one, but I adore it. It makes me feel safer when I have it hanging about my wrist; I loop it twice, and it feels as if it might fall off so I clutch the crucifix. It's something soothing to stroke. I decided that my character has only this and her daughter to keep her going; I will describe her life as if it's me:
This wood is warm, and he gave it to me, not that he believes at all in religion. The thing was that I could no longer hold his hand. My simple parochial bloom does not compare to worlds, worlds away. I found another hand to hold, but it never wrapped around mine in quite the same way, so I wrapped that warm wooden strand around it instead, knowing that the prayers I made were not for anything except my own reassurance.
My daughter, the one that he gave to me, she is beautiful. She isn't happy, poor dear. She's cold and strange, because she drowns her sorrows. She is that cross; made of cheap stuff, but infinitely precious. She is the only thing I can touch of his, his last reminder in her face. Me and he and her, we are all there. All warm wood and cold metal, in a house on a lake.
Friday 4 May 2007
Costumes.
I am in a play (as I have mentioned before). I've got a small part that I am determined to make the most of, as the rehearsals are taking over my life at the moment. I adore acting.
For this play, we need costumes that are in the style of 1920s parochial Russia. I am (in the play) around fifty five, and a farm steward's disgruntled wife. Yesterday we went to try the costumes. The girl playing my melancholic daughter is a brilliant actress, and blasts me off the stage every time we do a scene together. She's also very pretty, very petite and very slim, but not very nice; I get the distinct impression that she detests me. The changing room was communal, and the conditions for our sharing it unfavourable.
Needless to say, I felt a colossal giant when trying on things next to her; she wears black lace, which looks perfect on her. She looks like a china doll. I wear long dresses which are in navy serge, with ruffles and high necklines, making me Juliet's sad old matron. Ah well, my character is a sad old matron. The only thing is, I'm not sure I want to be a sad old matron. I worry that I am typecast. When I went to nursery school we used to sing a nursery rhyme, about a witch and a princess. One of the blonde girls was always the princess; I longed to be the princess. I was, a few times; but I was more often cast the witch. I realise now the dramatic potential of this part, but the Princess got to be beautiful and to have the Prince, and the witch was always the loser.
For this play, we need costumes that are in the style of 1920s parochial Russia. I am (in the play) around fifty five, and a farm steward's disgruntled wife. Yesterday we went to try the costumes. The girl playing my melancholic daughter is a brilliant actress, and blasts me off the stage every time we do a scene together. She's also very pretty, very petite and very slim, but not very nice; I get the distinct impression that she detests me. The changing room was communal, and the conditions for our sharing it unfavourable.
Needless to say, I felt a colossal giant when trying on things next to her; she wears black lace, which looks perfect on her. She looks like a china doll. I wear long dresses which are in navy serge, with ruffles and high necklines, making me Juliet's sad old matron. Ah well, my character is a sad old matron. The only thing is, I'm not sure I want to be a sad old matron. I worry that I am typecast. When I went to nursery school we used to sing a nursery rhyme, about a witch and a princess. One of the blonde girls was always the princess; I longed to be the princess. I was, a few times; but I was more often cast the witch. I realise now the dramatic potential of this part, but the Princess got to be beautiful and to have the Prince, and the witch was always the loser.
Wednesday 2 May 2007
One of my friends is in a gay relationship- the one I spoke about a while ago- and she's freaked out about it. She doesn't want to tell people, but she has; she's very brave. I gave her a hug tonight, which is unlike me; I don't do physical affection, I don't want people to be able to put a finger (or more) on my flaws. But she was so relieved that I was on board- I can't believe she'd think I wouldn't be, or that I'd treat her differently. Anyway, she's fine, we're fine. Me and my other friends are checking if this girl she's going out with is good enough for her, as usual.
Back to the kalorien;
muesli (400)
soup and 1.5 slices of bread (260)
a chicken wrap (500)
muesli (100)
I might have gone a bit over, portion wise. I also ate two tangerines.
I am just like everyone else in that I want someone; but the last person I wanted most of all did not want me. I cannot have what I want, so I want what I cannot have. Wanting what I've got means that what I've got is not worth wanting. If someone wants me, why would they want me, because if they want someone as shit as me they must be truly shit. I never get what I want.
That's very applicable to me. It's from a dance thing I saw in Edinburgh, which was amazing.
Back to the kalorien;
muesli (400)
soup and 1.5 slices of bread (260)
a chicken wrap (500)
muesli (100)
I might have gone a bit over, portion wise. I also ate two tangerines.
I am just like everyone else in that I want someone; but the last person I wanted most of all did not want me. I cannot have what I want, so I want what I cannot have. Wanting what I've got means that what I've got is not worth wanting. If someone wants me, why would they want me, because if they want someone as shit as me they must be truly shit. I never get what I want.
That's very applicable to me. It's from a dance thing I saw in Edinburgh, which was amazing.
Tuesday 1 May 2007
Malleability.
Today instead of working I procrastinated to the extreme, which leaves me with 2 and 1/2 essays to do. I ate:
flapjack
soup and a bun
muesli
pasta and pesto
an orange
a smoothie
Which is probably, all in all, well over 1200. I shall do better. I think the smoothie tips it to about 1450. Why must I consume so much? I'm ridiculous.
I consume and do nothing.
I scraped a 2.1 in an essay I got back today; I feel like I could have done better. But I got better marks than one of my friends.
I'm worried that trying on our costumes will be a communal situation in which the other girls in my play, with perfect tiny statures, will see my various imperfections and detest me even more. If I had a perfect body they'd be in awe of me. Well... what would Beth Ditto say?
She'd say... act them off the stage. Who cares? If they can't see past your flaws then they're not worth it are they? You haven't got anything to prove to them.
I don't want my sister to be the same as me. I don't want her to feel that being petite is the be all and end all. I don't want her thinking that she has to prove something to the skinny girls. That attitude is dangerous; I think that I can stop her doing this by being a good example, of being confident and happy in my own skin. I am fairly healthy and hale.
One of my friends today made an astonishing confession; that sometimes she doesn't go out because she doesn't feel confident enough about her body. She's funny and clever, and very pretty; all of my friends are. She's probably a UK size fourteen, and I can't believe that she thinks this; she's got so many friends. I get like that sometimes though. I admitted to her that I am terrified of everyone when I first meet them; until I get to know them properly, I'm sure that they're judging and hating every single thing that comes out of my mouth. I keep speaking because I assume that they'll judge me whether or not I say anything, so I may as well be judged for what I say. She said she was shocked, because I get on so easily with everyone and seem to make friends with all of the groups in our lessons. This just goes to show how much lurks below the first impression you get of someone. Seriously, the first thing I'd have said about my friend wouldn't have been to comment on her weight; she's no oddity. People are strange creatures.
flapjack
soup and a bun
muesli
pasta and pesto
an orange
a smoothie
Which is probably, all in all, well over 1200. I shall do better. I think the smoothie tips it to about 1450. Why must I consume so much? I'm ridiculous.
I consume and do nothing.
I scraped a 2.1 in an essay I got back today; I feel like I could have done better. But I got better marks than one of my friends.
I'm worried that trying on our costumes will be a communal situation in which the other girls in my play, with perfect tiny statures, will see my various imperfections and detest me even more. If I had a perfect body they'd be in awe of me. Well... what would Beth Ditto say?
She'd say... act them off the stage. Who cares? If they can't see past your flaws then they're not worth it are they? You haven't got anything to prove to them.
I don't want my sister to be the same as me. I don't want her to feel that being petite is the be all and end all. I don't want her thinking that she has to prove something to the skinny girls. That attitude is dangerous; I think that I can stop her doing this by being a good example, of being confident and happy in my own skin. I am fairly healthy and hale.
One of my friends today made an astonishing confession; that sometimes she doesn't go out because she doesn't feel confident enough about her body. She's funny and clever, and very pretty; all of my friends are. She's probably a UK size fourteen, and I can't believe that she thinks this; she's got so many friends. I get like that sometimes though. I admitted to her that I am terrified of everyone when I first meet them; until I get to know them properly, I'm sure that they're judging and hating every single thing that comes out of my mouth. I keep speaking because I assume that they'll judge me whether or not I say anything, so I may as well be judged for what I say. She said she was shocked, because I get on so easily with everyone and seem to make friends with all of the groups in our lessons. This just goes to show how much lurks below the first impression you get of someone. Seriously, the first thing I'd have said about my friend wouldn't have been to comment on her weight; she's no oddity. People are strange creatures.
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