Supersize vs Superskinny.

I watched this with a group of friends. It's a terrible programme; I like that it's freakshowing thin and fat, but I don't like the way they force them to eat each other's food. It's terrible; it would freak the thin one out and make the fat one starve then regain.

As both a pork and a freak eater, I really enjoy it but it does give me ideas, like just cut a bit out of your diet, and you'll be like that thin one.

God, I feel shit. I really and truly just want to be in a good play, or to be good at something. Anything. I feel like I'm so incredibly mediocre it's untrue at the moment, I feel talentless and horrible. It's encroaching on everything and hanging over me too much. I'm not really eating properly or sleeping properly. I made the wrong decision with the play. I should have gone with the devised piece. I don't even like him as much anymore because I'm seeing all his faults and my life is tearing at the seams, I just can't hold it together. I can. I've got friends, and I've got a future. It isn't as if I'm cut off.

But it won't be as an actress as I dreamed. There's not even any point in auditioning for theatre school if I can't get the fucking role I want, is there? God, I detest myself at the moment. For my lack of control over my rapidly careering life and my own supine position on the whole matter. I hate hate hate me. All I want to do is exorcise these demons.

Terrible, terrible things.

I didn't get a good part this term in the theatre. This is my last term and I wanted to finish on a high; the play I'm in isn't even that good, and I feel really desperate about it. I could retract my acting but I know the director really well and I don't want it to be awkward. I feel so trapped, in my house, in this play, in waiting for results that could very well be awful, in everything and it's making me really nervous. I don't want to sacrifice my degree for it.

The sickening thing is that a few really good actresses didn't audition, it's a student theatre, and I still didn't get the part I wanted. I feel shit. Utterly shit. I feel sick to my stomach.

Trapped trapped trapped. And all I want is for a way out, or for it to get better, but I don't know how. I feel terrible.

Today's good things.

1. I saw P. and E.. We always laugh together, and I like that. I like them because they are sharp, funny and non-judgemental. We dislike the same people, and this binds us together, really.
2. I saw Dover and Brazil. Though lecturing, they have got my best interests at heart and they like me.
3. I am in a new play which is wonderful. You're directing. I like everyone in it.
4. You're wonderful, even when you're wan and irritable. You know you are different now.

If you would ever let me in, or if I could ever say the magic words that would unlock you. This is all terribly Blackbird, holey soul. If you could ever know how much power you hold over me I would be terrified to trust you with it, though you never have done me any harm and I suspect you know anyway. You worry so about letting me in. Don't you know I want only to kiss your neck? I'd keep it secret. Vampire.

You haven't noticed, because I do whine to you, but I am getting better. I've stopped worrying so much about being fat and started to realise that it's because I'm not the best at anything but I could be. You helped me with that. You tease me, fat and ugly, but then you tell me honestly that I am a six, not a two, or that I am bony. And it's the honesty that helps most of all, because I know others would tell me I'm a ten or that I'm a flawless actress. I don't want you to think I'm overly reliant on you, because I'm not. I would get along without you, but you do save me from myself sometimes. Could you be this honest with me if you felt the same way as I do? I am honest about your plays and your ridiculousness. But if you asked me to rate your aesthetics, it would be a ten. I value that honesty so very much.

I sat watching television with Dover and Brazil tonight, all the time thinking of sitting with you.

You are tired and abashed. You feel bad. Shhh, shhh. Listen to me when I tell you that you are kind and wonderful, that everyone has bad days. That maybe, maybe, you are bipolar, but there is no weakness in that. You don't want a doctor, or to take the pills. I want to hold you and kiss you about the collapse until you feel safe in yourself again.

I maybe wouldn't help at all though I'm so desperate to. I'd maybe annoy you instead. I hate that I can't return to you what you give so easily to me.

People aren't puppets- does that make you sob?

Lordy lord. I'm getting het up because two friends told me my plans weren't feasible, and then not to get Little Bird drunk because apparently she says things she doesn't want to. I think Little Bird needs to let go more, or of more emotively.

Anyway, they only told me what was true, and what they knew (which was more than what I knew) and I was so angry about it. I was angry that they knew more than me. We're all the same age and I felt like a child being told what its best options were by its parents, and I hate feeling behind, and stupid. I went home at the end and just cried out of anger and frustration, that I'm not the expert at anything. I'm not the expert at common sense, I'm not clever or talented. I'm just furious at how far behind my peers I am.

And you just sorted me out, even though you've got so much else to do. You're having trouble sleeping. If it would help, I'd lay your head on my chest, stroke your hair and make you breathe in time with me till we both fell asleep. Unfortunately, I can't cure you like you cure me darling. I say silly things and you talk sense. You said I was saying I wasn't good at anything because I hate making a decision, that being self pitying wasn't doing me any favours and that I've got enough natural talent for things. You said maybe I wasn't wrong. God, you're so very right about me all the time, you always say the right thing at least, when I need you to most. You're honest, about the pitying and sometimes even about how you feel about me. Constructive criticism. I'd so much like to make you feel better.

You got angry because we disagree over someone, and now you have gone to bed. When we disagree you say I am playing the devils advocate, but look dearest, I don't intend to harm you. The thing is that I know what you feel, and that you worry over your own success. You said you worried about the faint- that you were childish, stupid and naive. Then more than ever I wanted to hold you and tell you it wasn't so. How could it be when you hold so much sway over me?

Today you looked wan and far-away. More than anything I wanted to hold you (I did at the end of the day, but then everyone in the play piled on top of us and it became ridiculous). I'd been desperate to do that all day though, but we were in public and I couldn't. You need a rest dearest. I'd like so much to rest you in my arms, I would make for you a cradle to lay and sleep in. I'd tell you not to worry about being N__ M_______ because you are far more to me. I'd never, ever lie to you, and at heart, you wouldn't to me.

Tell me all your woes, misplaced tangential sorrows
As I told you mine, and I shall solve them, sibyl incarnate
I'll unwrap the leaves to form those letters that never were said
And we shall lie in a royal state, till cares abate
Until we know no more what was uttered, or by whom.
I wish I had such a sandy fist as she
That I might wither away the years in your seaworn clasp.
And, like a God, you are lovely. Hades, I think.
I'd be your Proserpina. No snatching of seasons,
Eternally winter for us two.

Big Fat Day today.

I just took some pictures of myself and I looked fat. I was going to go on a rant now, but I decided not to because I've ranted enough in my head. I just hated them. I look like that in real life, undoubtedly, all fat wrinkles and podge. Today I started my period- this could have something to do with it. I also looked up someone that went to my primary school, who is signed to a record label and doing graphic design, who loves her life. She's in a relationship. Of course, she's incredibly thin as well. All of these factors combined to make me feel crap. If she hasn't changed since school, she's probably still a lovely person and excellent at sports too. I feel like I haven't got anything at all going for me; OK, I don't really want to be signed to a record label, but I'd like an acting agent. I haven't got a book out or anything like that. I'm not even thin. I like my friends. This is the only thing I've got going for me at the moment.

I know, as well, that she's a great person because she is confident. God, I think I might cry. I'm so pathetic- this is my main problem. I'm no good at being me because there isn't anything fantastic about being porky and shy. I feel so second-rate all the time, to everyone, and I'm so sick of it. Just, fuck fuck fuck. I desperately want to find out what it is I am brilliant at. I hate being mediocre at lots of things.

See, what I really want to be is the confident girl at the party that everyone likes because she's genial and cool in an indie type way, because she knows exactly what she likes and she isn't scared of saying it. I know three of them, four even, and one is my cousin. I should just start thinking what they would do on such occasions. I'm scared of saying everything, that I want to move, I want a bigger room, a bigger role, I'm bisexual. The only thing I'm not scared of saying is how shit I am. And that's not a great party starter.

Instead I'm shit. Worse than shit, I'm middling. I hate being middling. And fuck, this did turn into a massive rant.

I don't even want him so much anymore. Is this the start of depression? You lose interest? Or am I losing interest in him?

Ok. Here's what I can do to make this better.

Get the housing contract and start moving.

Or ask for the room.

Start thinking what cooler people would do in such situations.

And to be thin?

Fuck knows. Eat more vegetables and do more exercise.

Three good things about today?

I started more of the dissertation.
I saw friends, and had fun for a bit of it.
I made it in for a lecture (that was cancelled, but at least I was there).

God, I wish life was better.

Here are some things I might like to write a book on:

Workhouses

Public grief ceremonies

Gypsies

magic realism

mythology and folk tales

Is punishment more terrifying when you know exactly what's going to happen, or when you face the unknown? Lots of people starved to death (unknown) rather than go to a workhouse (known). You'd think it would be the other way round.

steampunks

I am surprising myself in that I have no desire at all to write about food. No desire to write about eating disorders, or theatre, or anything that I usually read about. I might write on facial modification though. If you could modify your face, how would you tell that someone was really them? What if the face was modified but you had to act exactly the same in every circumstance.

Sinti and Roma.

Interesting, that the holocaust is predominantly remembered in terms of the Jewish population. People remember that other races were persecuted, but none so much as the jewish race. Why is this? Because they were the largest population slaughtered, and because the campaign against them was ran so efficiently? Because the Jewish people have a national identity that can act as a memorial to their suffering, possibly. Gypsies don't have a place; they don't have a written history. I've looked on the internet; I can't even find a site that tells me why gypsies are nomadic. Yes, they've got a place to come from, but now they're disparate in the eye of the media; so they don't get a proper memorial. Memorials need places, not just times.

Disabled people, prostitutes, homosexuals, prisoners of war... all of these factions have also been forgotten, to some extent. We only remember the jewish holocaust; not the holocaust of these others. Why?

One comment

Left by Samuel, who seems to run a graffiti website which is in Spanish. I only hablo anglese... nontheless, I thank him for his comment; though I cannot fathom why on earth my misanthropic meanderings are at all entertaining, suffice as gossip. Unless Samuel is an elaborate undercover agent who exists in my real life, and is attempting to dig up dirt on me. Delusions are always more exciting than the reality, which is that Samuel is simply a spanish graf artist. Good graphics on the site Samuel.

Worry, worry, worry.

I am thinking of moving out of my rented house; but do I have to find another tenant? And would he give me the money back? I don't like where I am; the people are boring and it doesn't feel like home. But I only have to put up with it till June or so, so I could stand it, potentially.

No. I am going to ask if I can move out. I don't need to take that crap anymore.

I haven't done anything in the past three days towards work; I've just sat about and ate, which makes me feel fat and disgusting, and slovenly. I'm clouded with carbohydrates.

I am secretly applying to drama school. This carb fest hasn't helped my confidence; I need to pick three monologues, and actually get the forms done. I am applying secretly because of three reasons: 1. My parents don't need to worry about whether or not I need financial support- they can't give it after this year anyway- and I don't think they want me to go into acting.

2. I know I'm not the world's best actress. I don't always even get a part in the University dramas; but I know that if I don't have a go I'll curse it for the rest of my life.

3. I'd hate to tell everyone I'd failed. Even if I got a place I don't know how I'd go because I've got no money to fund it. So I don't need anyone else with me on it, though it would be good to have a sounding board. I wonder who I can rope in... the careers office, possibly.

The past three days, with their rent worries and their carb loading, and their total lack of dedication to scholarly and social matters, have put my mind to doubt my choice to apply.

Oh, oh let me take you by the hand. Away from here, to another land.

All the things you said to me today changed my perspective in every way, hey. These things count, mean so much to me. If you want me, I'll be there.

I like it when you breathe heavily, which is all the time, and the way you make noises when you're tired. I know that I would fit perfectly with you, though we disagree because I'm stubborn and you're arrogant. I'll never show you this. It's so very embarrassing, badly written and repetitive, yet if I didn't do it I'd let it out another way and that would be surely detrimental. Here, no one knows who I am, or ever reads it, so it's safer.

I've thought of kissing you a million times when we're holding hands in your bed but then I wonder if you'd be shocked and hate me. I used to worry about it souring everything but I think now that we understand each other well, and that though it would end one day, we would be friends after a while.

Then again, I know that you are proud of not judging by appearances, but your last girlfriend was very pretty. It is entirely plausible for me to think that you are pitifully indulging me. That would be horrible; I detest being an object of pity. Hate me, but do not pity me.

I sometimes think of drawing your and my initials together in a book, enclosed by a heart, as a teenage crush, as an amulet. It would never work because you don't believe in luck; neither do I, let's come to it, and both of us find that sort of thing pathetic.

Dearest dearest.

Recount your woes and I shall be your confessor. I shall silently hold your hand and tell you the truth, without laughing or being pugnacious (which I do only to make you notice me anyway, and only because I find the prospect of your enjoying my company so perfectly ludicrous). I should like to tell you of your face, to hold a mirror up with my words and to speak the light back into your own sad countenance. Today was a gloomy day, you said, and that you'd have to go to bed. I wish I was there, weaving my cold toes into your warmth as you told me of all those woes.

Then there is.

You. You don't like yourself. I argue with you all the time, yet I still adore you. You consider yourself ugly, and you are the furthest thing from it; not just to me. Others remark that you are by no means ugly; exotic, different looking, maybe, but by no means are you ugly. I don't usually like handsome men. You are, maybe, the first handsome man I have ever felt for; I'm not attracted to attractive faces. I began to adore you once I started to know you properly; before I'd been terrified of your beautiful face. I suppose you'd never known that.

Maybe that isn't the only reason you dislike yourself. I'd like to hear your woes, lord knows you assuage mine. You are the best at listening to my dislike of myself, and making it ridiculous in my eyes, because you are honest with me all of the time, and I adore you for being that mirror for me. I wish I could do the same for you.

Norah Vincent says that men need comfort without contact, and I agree. I can see that need in you. It is silly, then, to fantasise about cradling your head on my chest and holding your hand when what you need is someone to provide a solution, or at least to listen. I would love to listen.

Ugliness

Alright, so I am no beauty, but neither am I hideously ugly. I wonder what it would be like? A friend and I looked up people today that were incredibly ugly, just to feel better about ourselves. Of course, I am fully aware that I could be this sort of confidence-booster, because I am strange and pretentious- I harbour all manner of undesireable characteristics.

I know a girl obsessed with pink and other things. She isn't hideous but she does look very much like a pug dog. Her infantilised fantasies only serve to throw her canine face into starker relief; I think that this is a huge problem for ugly people. They merely need to accept their ugliness, and then to work with it rather than moulding themselves to some form of playboy femininity. Pretty girls that put on fake tan and doll themselves up to the eyeballs (and beyond) to pose and pout are pitiful, but they are at least intimidating. If one observes a pack of them on a night out, there is always one among their number that is doughier and plainer than the rest. She suffers from the Playboy complex; she desires so much to be an object of adoration, or of intimidation, like the others, that she begins to think that she is one. She ends a drunken night whining, "I'm so fat!" to others that agree with the declamatory exclamations. I know another girl that suffers from this playboy complex; she simply looks like a pudding: white, doughy and pasty. Her legs meet all the way down, and even the most slimming vestments fail to detract from her ample form. Her face is maternal, or matronly. She will never be beautiful, unless someone falls in love with her; she is an object of pity, and she doesn't know it. She takes obscured pictures from high angles to disguise her double chin and piggy eyes. All of this, aside from the last, I had accepted in her; I assumed that she was proud to be funny and well organised instead. But she thinks that she is hot, and she never can, or never will be. It is impossible, and therein lies her complex.

I consider it a point of pride in myself that I accept my masculine features, their shortcomings and gains, and whether I love them or hate them, at least acknowledge them. I am under no illusion that I am a wispy heroine; and I am glad of my self-awareness.

Little bird.

My friend, one of my best friends, had a phonecall and started to cry last night. She went away for five minutes and came back perky; she wanted to be perky, she put on a face for the group. I felt so much for her; I wanted to give her a proper hug and ask her what the matter was, but to say that if she didn't want to tell me that she didn't have to. I couldn't in a crowd because that would have knocked her down again. I'm living with her next year, and this thought makes me very happy because she is wonderful. She's someone I aspire to be like, because she is witty, clever and beautiful, and never flounders in any social situation. She's fantastic at improvisation, and, I suspect, not a bad actress. But despite all of these things, I never, ever feel bad about myself around her. I should, because I know that she is better than me in all of these arenas, but she never makes me feel so. I would usually feel insecure whether someone like her intended me to or not, but I haven't got any barriers with her; I feel unconditionally accepted. I suppose she isn't at all aloof. Despite that, I did feel in awe of her when I first met her. Then, she was still pretty, but she weighed a lot more than she does now- I think she's lost about five stones, and it's only since she lost weight I've come to know her really. I would usually feel like I had one up on someone that weighed more than me, but I felt scared of her, because she was evidently so popular and brilliant. I felt in awe of her because of her cleverness, and the amazing social skills, and the witty ease she exuded, so I didn't talk to her. But then suddenly, a year later, we bonded and I am so glad. I should show her this to show her how fantastic I think that she is; I probably won't.

Her parents are getting divorced, and they involved her too much. I think it's getting very hard for her at the moment. When I go back I will tell her that I will listen. I might copy and paste this to send to her, because she should know how great she is.

You you you. Vomit inducing longings.

Tonight we laid in his bed, but I had to go just as we were starting to touch. I didn't want to but I had to.

He insulted my teeth and my fat chubby fingers. I insulted his claw, and his flat feet, and asked if he wore a catheter bag. He put my hand on his as he tried to teach me the piano (which is futile because I'm musically retarded). He wore his Joseph dressing gown, and I stood on his back. He taught me how to project my voice and I laughed at his hairy legs and hairless chest. He laughed at my ex boyfriend and I laughed at his ex girlfriend. All of these events are coloured by my own rose tinted brush.

He said he was a bear. If I had been able to, I would have said that he was wonderful. Or asked what he meant by bear, and told him that though he might not like whatever it was, that I did, and that I knew that my liking his flaws would not be enough but that I did nonetheless. I'd tell him that I adored his clean, pure scent, or his intelligence, or the simple way that he is the epitome of civilisation. He is emotionally clumsy, but he is a machiavelli, he's everything. Or put my hand on his shoulder, nestled into the warmth of his back and kissed his beautiful soft face, it has the texture of silk. I told him that it was soft, and I stroked his face, but it wasn't as good as kissing it.

I wanted to tell him that his body is a marvel. It isn't the conventional adonis; his legs are fairly muscular, and he's very tall. He's very broad and quite fat with slim arms. I like it all.

As it was, I laughed and said he had soft skin, and touched them, and stroked his hair. I adore his hair. He held my hand for a while. God, it makes my stomach squinch to think of it, and I need to let this go because he doesn't love me.

Triskaidekaphobe ways

This is thirteen thirteens almost, and that makes me feel bad about actions in the future and essay marks; fate. I'm pretty pathetic really. I don't read starsigns or anything; but this thirteen thing throws thinking to frippery.

Oh one day we will die, and our ashes will fly, in an aeroplane over the sea

Things I have discovered a renewed love for:

1. My family, in particular the father

2. Him. I was beginning to tire of him because it seemed that we were further apart... but really, we aren't.

3. Neutral Milk Hotel. I liked them as a child, and I didn't know their name, but now I do and I've rediscovered them. I am listening to Aeroplane Over the Sea on repeat. But who is Goldaline? This is a lovely name.

I have kept under count today, but through sheer luck as I've eaten utter crap.

Norah Vincent is the coolest woman. I want to be her, or at least to see what it's like trying to be a man for a while. When I was a child I wanted more than anything to be a boy; I don't know why. I wanted, actually, to be a girl who was so convincing a boy that people were surprised when this wiry, tiny, pugilistic defensive thing was a girl. Of course, I was broad and cumbersome, and too effeminate to fool many at more than second glance. I cut the hair off my Ariel barbie and drew a moustache on it to create an emulatory figure. I wanted the surprise of strangers rather than their acceptance; I was a strange child I suppose. Too much famous five altogether.

Norah says, in her book, that women feel sometimes that they are intruding on mens space. Conversely, and I don't know if this is because I'm young and thus, no matter what, attractive or pitiable to the older generation, I have never felt this way. When with a group of men, I feel that I am one of them, though they may not feel that. I feel... accepted. It might be because I react in a conventionally masculine way; for example, I don't like to hug- I detest the word hug- I prefer to handshake. I rarely discuss emotions, and if I do it will be anger that I express rather than sadness. I can't comfort when I'm in a group; if a friend breaks down one on one, that's ok, but I cannot do it publicly. I feel that I can be a man too, when I am with men. I stand tall (because I'm not afraid of towering over the other girls) and swear, and joke, and discuss serious things, and laugh. Which is what I also do with my closest female friends, but only with them and men. I especially like old men. It's possibly because of a subconscious feeling that I hold a sexual power over them, I don't know.

Norah is exactly right about masculine handshakes and feminine hugs though. I detest the feminine hug, and will eschew it at all costs. It's such a flimsy thing, and incredibly shaded. It can't even be called a hug because it's so wispy and ineffectual. I will hug my very best friends, when they need it, and preferably not at the start or end of every social occasion unless I am forced. Bless Norah for elucidating this, because otherwise I would have continued to feel an emotional stone freak. Otherwise I only ever touch him, or hug him, and he is starting to wonder why... A handshake is far better. This is why I continually instate handshakes instead of hugs.

He said today that I looked like Norah, but softer (he lent me the book) and I was complimented. I am very masculine shaped, with my broad shoulders and flat chest; I wouldn't really even need the tight sports bra. I have got a waist and a huge arse, which mark me as a woman, but I suppose these could be covered. I'd do it for the thrill, and to learn how to talk like a man; how to lean back and make others listen. It would be wonderful to make that an aspect of myself.

I bang on about how I hate my bony decollete, and my flat chest, and my turkey neck, but really I am happy with all of those things because they make me athletic and thin. Without small boobs, my clothes wouldn't look as good, I'd have problems doing gymnastics and I wouldn't be as good a physical mover as I am. Friends with large chests say they're a hindrance, and others say I'm in proportion. My bony decollete and neck (my neck is very thin, and its tendons stand out easily), whilst sometimes disgusting because they remind me of my innards, are good for acting. It's so easy to convey even the slightest tension with them, and others have said they look elegant. I prefer to think that they look strong, and honest. There's an honesty about bones and tendons, even if they are vile to me. I suppose I could even be glad for my broad frame because it makes me look thinner; I would rather be broad, tall and thin looking than small, narrow and have an extra four stones of fat hanging off my frame. I weigh about the same as some friends that have this problem, and I'm glad I don't have their build. Was I a slightly-built girl of 5ft 2 that weighed 10st 7 I'd look horrifically fat; double chins everywhere. At 5ft 9 and the same weight with broad muscles and bones, I look slighter. So I suppose there is really a lot to be grateful for.

Hours and Hours

I've been in the library, and I've still got 1000 words of this essay to do, plus referencing and citing. I'm hoping that writing this will gear me up to it. So, here's my list of what I've eaten today:

An eat natural bar-300

a pear-40

two tangerines-40

some chocolate peanuts-100

two slices of vegetable pizza-400.

All in all, this isn't bad.

I feel shit because I can't stop thinking about my room problem. I'm so pissed off that my housemates gave me the worst room ever, again, and that the girls are uncommunicative, and that I have to wait till after exams to tell them this else it'll cause more drama than it's worth. I should have asked before holiday time.

He just asked me why I always hug him because I don't hug anyone else, and I didn't know what to say. I just went pink, then he made fun of me and it was all normal again....


Roll on three thirty tomorrow.

That's your name.

Realism is overrated in my little world
Observing your hair and hands uncurled
Music plays in soft chords and strings
Utterly oblivious of aural meanings
Say I, because I've simply no idea
Kinesthete's my epithet, fidget nearer
Alongside your book and halycon shoe.

Final eatings today, and the whinings of little red riding hood.

I had a bagel with cream cheese, pesto and spinach, and two cubes of chocolate (65). The bagel is 300, cheese 60, pesto 100. So that's a meal for 520 cals.

I feel like shit because I've been looking at his ex girlfriend's webpage. This has perturbed me for two reasons:

1. She seems alright, and he usually demonizes her. I wonder why? Does he do this to everyone?

2. She is a far better version of me than I am. She's thin, pretty, goes to Cambridge and knows what she wants and says when she wants it. I thought she would be ugly, because he was so disdainful partly, but mostly because she's a self-harmer. The other self-harmers I know are ugly or built like a brick shithouse- there's something off, and she isn't at all, physically. She dresses unusually. I'm this watered down version. So if he does hate her, if he ever in a million years saw me as anything other than one of the guys, I'd still be second best. I'd be gone in 3.5 days. And he only went out with her for a week. He always says he doesn't want a long term relationship, but this is essentially what we've got now, without anything sexual. So being friends, then.

I know what is wrong with my eating: I obsess about it. I think too much and it makes me old, worried and haggard. She probably doesn't think about it what with being thin. I am old at twenty one and she is nineteen. I am jealous of someone I've never met, that he perpetually says was miserable, humourless and spoilt. He doesn't want anyone for a start, much less me, and far less someone that won't measure up to someone he had for a week.

Why would I ever think I, me, chubby, spotty, boring, insecure me, could seduce someone that is essentially celibate? I need to sort my life.

And the first way I will sort it is not to think of myself like that.

So. Well, here is a good thing about today: I arranged to take some drugs with another friend, which will make me happy, because experimenting out of my comfort zone does. I always worry I'll be a Leah Betts, but never too much to stop me. Here is another: I saw him and he told me he hated my jumper (it's a huge turquoise men's one) and I looked like a tennis player with my academic headband, but he let me fix his collar. I like this. What else? I took a close up photograph of myself with my new camera, zoomed in on the hairs and found I'd got a moustache. That's terrifying, but at least now I know about it.

It rained today and I had a lift in his car, so that was good. I like the rain. It's part of my name for duplicitous reasons. Dualist reasons, they're not lies.

I do like being one of the guys: I'm part of a friendship group (two friendship groups actually) where I mesh better with the men. It's because I put on this show of not caring, really. I don't come across so very insecure in reality, or as paranoid. I took a test that said I was paranoid. The first is in my house; I don't care much for the girls, I prefer the men because they're funnier. The girls hardly ever laugh, and they're duller even than I am aesthetically. In our other group, it's me, him, two men and a girl. She is a pudding of a girl; she's small and very chubby. Her thighs chafe, I can see it, but she makes an effort and this is tragic. She is far too eager to be friends, like a poodle, and she takes pictures on nights out. She flirted shamelessly with the three men, and pestered me about who I "had a crush" on. I was not going to tell her; and I despise bad flirting. It's a horrific scene to watch, hypnotising yet terrible, and the worst thing was that she obviously thought of herself as a sexually appealing entity; well, everyone wants to think of themselves as that, but she simply isn't attractive, no matter how she tries. I know other people who are sexually attractive but not beautiful, because they know what they are; the difference between being attractive and not is knowing what you are. Anyway, needless to say I get on better with the men, who are also hilarious. I adore him, obviously, but nobody else knows, so we usually go about as a four, or a three, or a two, depending on what is happening.

One of them is besotted with a girl who is pushy and irritating; when she speaks she's heard halfway across the room because of her own sense of self-importance. She gets on my nerves at times, and then not at others. She's also desperate to cultivate friendships because she's severely lacking in them. She's seeing someone who is a complete anathema to her; he's lackadaisical, a drug pusher, and runs a sort of bar come greasy spoon. Then she flirts with my friend as well, who is between the two of them; fairly lax but also competitive, not pushy or irritating but confident. He only sees her face, I know this, and possibly her intelligence, she'd be a nice enough person if she wasn't so frustratingly pushy. Yet this doesn't irritate me. It should, being a feminist and all- valuing looks and appearance above essentials. I'm not even jealous, despite her beating me in various aspects of my life. I suppose I don't care because I'm happy with the way my friendship is with this man, and the way I feel about the girl- I can leave or take her- adds to his mood about her, either frustrated or happy.

Girth Mirth.

I went over a bit yesterday. Here are today's eat treats:

Breakfast: an eat natural bar.-300
three dried apricots-30

Lunch: a bean and cheese wrap-380
an apple-40

It's currently half past eight, and I got up at two. I went to a friend's last night and we watched Supersize Me and some documentary along the lines of, "What's actually in that health bar is half a pig carcass, chubs, so don't eat it". Now I'm terrified that I'm actually eating so far above my calorie count it's astronomical.

I'm meant to be writing an essay. I've read a few sources...

Here are some good things about today and yesterday:

1. I saw my friend who I like, and we firmed up plans to live in London next year. Both of these make me happy.

2. I saw him today. He picked on me for my jumper (it's a huge one, 40in mens, but I wear it because it's warm for the library).

3. I'm on my way to doing work.

I feel a bit of a bitch because I'm sitting directly opposite a girth. I mean a real fatty- this one's got to be at least twenty stones. I chose to sit here to make myself feel better. She's very pretty but so big. I feel big; I go home, and I think the mirror's lying there, I can't be THAT fat, then I come to Uni-Home and I think the mirror in my room makes me look even more grotesque, then I look down at my body and that's the worst of all reflections. But this girl opposite me is garguntuan; she's wearing a grey sort of dress that should be flattering but doesn't cover her rolls. She isn't hideous by any stretch, but I know that the primary reason for befriending her would probably be pity. It's not as if I can talk, with my hideous jumper, tennis pro headband and spotty face; I've made far less effort. But I know that if I was to put in as much effort than she has, I'd look a lot better. And I don't think I'm the prettiest pork about town; I'd just be more appealing. She makes me glad to be me.

Eating yesterday.

I had:

six mini kinder eggs-300
apricots-50

an apple-40

pasta, pesto and broccoli-400

two wafer biscuits-150

more apricots-50

two tangerines-40

Ice cream- 225

Today I have had:

A tangerine
a carrot and cheese sandwich

which is about 500, plus coffee. It's one twenty now, and I'm in a positive mood- I had a presentation today, which went better than I thought it would. I babbled a bit when I was asked questions, but it was alright. The girl that went after me did the most facile presentation I'd ever seen. I'm guilty of feeling it reflected well on me.

For now, anyway, my workload appears under control- I'm about to embark upon writing another essay, and then I'm going to start my dissertation properly, and write 3000 words of it. After that the term starts properly, and there'll be plays and things to do. So at the moment I'm really happy about where I am.

Here are things to do:

1. Go to the other campuses around this one and explore.

2. Various work things

3. See family.


I saw him the other day. I think sometimes that I don't like him as much, and then I see him and realise actually I do. He talks too long about his plays and sprays me with febreeze, and then tells me I smell of chicken. I quite like it. I don't think he'll ever become my... boyfriend sounds silly, for him, and partner sounds too old. Consort is bizarre. Significant other? I don't know. He doesn't want to be, so I'll just enjoy this time till it's on the wane.

Hazardous day

God, you were beautiful today, I'd almost forgotten over the holidays, how much I like to stare at you. I'd forgotten your eyes and your skin, and how I want to touch the slope in your back and slip underneath your jacket. I want to kiss each of your fingers, and to stroke your flushed cheek. I wish you wouldn't do your hair like that; I like your curls best.

You were talking about the man I'd been with before you, you don't know about the woman. Anyway, you laughed at him, because he's ugly. I'd not thought of it before; I thought we matched, he and I, and that you'd be kind because you didn't want me to know exactly how ugly I was in return. You told me I was cruel for not ending it properly; you sounded almost admiring, and I said I had a tendency to make people cry, which always made me awkward.

And you laughed at me because we worked out that I like fat men, and I do. I can't stand thin men that I think I might break, if they aren't friends.

It must have been blazingly obvious to everyone else in the library that I adore you, because when you turned back to work I kept staring at your reflection in the window. I don't know if it's obvious to you, if you don't look back for fear of having to confront it and telling me you don't like me like that... or that you do, and then it would be the end after we'd gone out. Because we're too young really, to be in a relationship forever.

You said you didn't want to be in a relationship because it takes up time, but we spend all of ours together... I wouldn't be a hassle.

The thing I lack
Is the bit of your back
And your neck's pretty too
It's about all of you.

I love it when you tell me I'm stupid for thinking the way I do about myself, because it means you think more of me than I do of myself.

Someone else said today that this girl I'd thought was thinner than me was fatter. That made me feel good, and it shouldn't have. I'm trying so hard not to care, but I do.

A big shortbread-500
An apple-40
Pasta, spinach and salmon-400
two kinder eggs-100
some apricots-100
two wafer biscuits-150
two tangerines-40

I wasn't going to write that, or at least, I was going to leave off the calorie writing. But I did. He hasn't made me that secure yet. I think that what I like about him is that he could think I'm ugly and fat and all the rest, but that he likes me nontheless. I like him because he is clever, and over-confident, and arrogant, and so vulnerable underneath it all. He'd laugh at that last one, and I would too. He's funny.

Stressed mess.

Ok.

I did an essay today, I've started another, and I've started my presentation too. It's all going to be fine.

Good things about today were that I got up early, and I did the work, and I was productive, and I had family fun.

I ate:

a chocolate off the christmas tree-50
an eat natural bar-300?

some pea salad- 100

salmon, vegetables and rice for lunch-300

stew and vegetables for dinner-400

three bits of chocolate covered toffee- 150

a pear- 40

This is my best day in ages, and it's over the count of what I'd deem acceptable, but I did feel good when I did it. If I ate like that every day I'd probably stop stressing and lose weight. I shouldn't be writing it down and obsessing over it at all, it's not what makes me feel good, or even what's helpful.

I got the old jealousy for my brother today, he's gone for a sleepover and left me to babysit my smallest sister tomorrow as well as today. He knew I wanted to go to the library. I don't think I'm jealous of his social life, it's my parents- they said he couldn't go, he'd be picked up at ten and then my Dad said he could. He's promised to be home by half nine in the morning, but I know he won't be and I won't be able to do my work. I hate that he can wrap people round his little finger so easily, and that they let themselves be wrapped. It probably is just that I can't do that with people. That's why I'm jealous. He's got something I haven't got.

I got jealous of his bandmate today because everyone accepts that he's a bad singer, and yet he's still allowed to sing with the band. I used to be a terrible singer; I've improved since, but all the time my parents used to say how I couldn't sing and shouldn't go for musicals etc. But they sympathise with this friend, saying it's a shame, etc, instead of that he's plain crap. I'm jealous that I didn't get that opportunity, and that people aren't as honest with him as they are with me. I know that even though I'm no Mariah Carey I'm better than him, and it isn't fair that he gets to sing in a band and I don't. I hate him.

Lastly, I'm jealous of my brother because he is talented and in a band and loves it. I act, but I'm not an amazing actress, I'm OK at best. My parents faces light up when his band is mentioned, because he is a good guitarist, and they're always saying how proud they are of me, but they haven't got anything at all specifically to be proud of. I'm clever but not in a way you could boast about it. I'm good round the house, but I'd rather die than have them use that adjective to describe me. The best I can say is that I'm independent. My brother's charismatic, and mega-talented, and my parents don't really care that he's shit in school because he can be in this band.

Really, what I want is to be talented. If I knew I was amazing at something it wouldn't matter what anyone else thought. But what on earth is that going to be?