When we sat
Human to chrysalid back
You've got the knack
Worries gone
Like that.
Back to back.
I know that I am hewn and angular- you said this weekend, god, you are angular. Your back looks strange, it does, you're right. It's just the way my skin is, the way my bones are, the way I am. I am not built for comfort; I should be an athelete, but this seems to have flown me by. A shotputter, a swimmer or suchlike. My bones are huge- they jut out, the muscles apparent and veins too under my skin. Messily built, I would say. I hate it reminding me that it's there, all there, all exposed and open to attack at any moment. Then there's you- you hate your fat for the same reason. You said someone spat on you in a club for being fat. I don't think so, I don't think that that is ever the way; you're beautiful. Not spat upon, never that. It's vulnerability. I find it appealing, but you'd rather be strong and indefatigable. I am coming to terms with my sinews and bones; I will never be delicate, but I can settle for angular. You'd be surprised how easily I can be a comfort, though I am knobbly and oddly stacked. Clavicles and hipbone and your delicate wrists and ankles, beautiful eyes, smoothed skin.
You said in the night that I'd huddle back to back with you or snatch all of the covers for myself. I did get cold easily, I was febrile and hot-cold, and you were warm and comforting, and I wanted to be of some comfort to you as well. I probably was not. The last thing you want at the moment is probably my cold-hot feverish back, with its sinews and knobbles, poking at you when you sleep. Your back is smooth and soft and solid. I know that I twitch and shift and shake in my sleep. After you said you'd kept my secrets I laughed, but I wish now that I'd leant over and embraced you to show you that yes, you did, you did, and I trust you for it.
You put a forearm under my head- I worried I was crushing it. Your arm's a delicate thing, thin wrists and cream-nutbrown, though it isn't at all like mine, fraught with freckles and veins and wrist joints, almost the same width all the way, like a column. Yours is tapered to the wrist, I could wrap my finger and thumb round it, perfect skin without a hint of its inner workings. Mine are written all over, there's fat here, bone here, muscle here, vein here, and I can barely link thumb and finger round them. I thought I'd squeeze your arm to death with my massive head. I didn't, and I marvelled at how strong it was- strong, beautiful, vulnerable, yourself in a limb, comfortable and not worrying like I am to lie near or on or... everyone thinks they'll break me, or they'll break themselves on me.
Tuesday 27 May 2008
Cheese dreams and friendship teams.
Eating today
bacon sandwich-300
smoothie-120
orange juice-80
pasta and tomatoes-320
820
sultanas oats 2tsps greek yoghurt-250
apple-25
sultanas-20
2 biscuits-200
500
so... 1320. That isn't completely unrespectable actually. Tops, it's 1400, if I've overestimated with the sultanas.
I went off on a weekend with Little Bird and some others. I shared a bed with her, and it was like being sisters. It threw into relief that she is attention seeking, and aggrandizing of minor events... but also that she is insecure and amusing and lovely.
There were discussions to be had. I said she couldn't keep a secret, joking, and she said she could. She has kept them about me, that is true, but can't seem to keep secrets about herself. She hasn't told anyone, to my knowledge, about the auditions or about my freak eating. But then, she has said to one of my friends (who calls me fat in the sort of way that implies I'm a rake) that he shouldn't do this- when I am trying so hard to be someone that doesn't care. If I'm completely honest I like it when he does this, because it implies that I'm so far from fat it can't touch me, even in jest. Her complaining makes me think that she thinks I'm fat- too fat for a fat nickname. Politics of it are difficult.
She's feeling the weight she's put on lately, she says. She doesn't feel good about herself. I was laughing about a picture that there is floating about of me- it looks like there's a chrysalis or some sort of insect embedded in my back, but it's just muscle and bone really. I was wondering why- because I haven't lost weight, I'm 10st 3 or 4, which for my height of 5ft 8 is perfectly healthy (though I want to be less, though I didn't say this to her)- and she said it was because I am damaging myself through bad eating. It really and truly isn't. I am eating fine- way, way over the 500 a day I used to do. I haven't been eating a lot round her because I've had a sort-of flu for the past few days and I've left food because it tastes like mucus- but I really haven't lost weight because of it. I've still been a normal amount. Yesterday, for example, we all sat to dinner which was shepherd's pie, ratatouille and peas, which I completely finished ample portions of, and then pudding- ice cream, lemon tart and chocolate sauce. I ate as much as I could but I was having breathing difficulties by the end (because of mucus and general amounts of food), and didn't finish all the pudding, having ate a massive meal. Little Bird takes this as evidence that I was starving myself. It's good that she's on the lookout for this, and lovely that she cares. I like that she cares, I just wish I could convince her that I am, for me, doing well on the diet front. I know I still record it, and I still think I'm pretty big, but I'm not doing ridiculous things about it, and I'm trying to accept it, and not to care anymore. I also think she's got her own issues- she can eat a hell of a lot, she's got a thing about food and guilt, and feeding people so that she doesn't feel like she's eating. She'll starve then binge then exercise. When she does that cycle I just want to hold her hand and tell her she's lovely, she's fine, she doesn't have to do that cycle. I worry about what she is thinking that's making her do it to herself, or that she's making herself vomit- she's certainly sickened over it- I don't judge her, and I would never, ever say anything- food and guilt are far too linked in her mind, and she's always beautiful, but any mention of food would translate as ugly to her. It does to society, it does to her. I don't know what to do. I only stopped when I realised I could eat what and when I wanted, which has helped a lot. I don't think she lets herself do that.
I had a lovely weekend, caked in mud and pretending I was in an Enid Blyton book.
I am wearing some jeans that I thought would be looser but still aren't as tight as they should be, so that's always a bonus. I might wear them home tomorrow.
I want to be in a musical as leading lady. Too much Nancy.
bacon sandwich-300
smoothie-120
orange juice-80
pasta and tomatoes-320
820
sultanas oats 2tsps greek yoghurt-250
apple-25
sultanas-20
2 biscuits-200
500
so... 1320. That isn't completely unrespectable actually. Tops, it's 1400, if I've overestimated with the sultanas.
I went off on a weekend with Little Bird and some others. I shared a bed with her, and it was like being sisters. It threw into relief that she is attention seeking, and aggrandizing of minor events... but also that she is insecure and amusing and lovely.
There were discussions to be had. I said she couldn't keep a secret, joking, and she said she could. She has kept them about me, that is true, but can't seem to keep secrets about herself. She hasn't told anyone, to my knowledge, about the auditions or about my freak eating. But then, she has said to one of my friends (who calls me fat in the sort of way that implies I'm a rake) that he shouldn't do this- when I am trying so hard to be someone that doesn't care. If I'm completely honest I like it when he does this, because it implies that I'm so far from fat it can't touch me, even in jest. Her complaining makes me think that she thinks I'm fat- too fat for a fat nickname. Politics of it are difficult.
She's feeling the weight she's put on lately, she says. She doesn't feel good about herself. I was laughing about a picture that there is floating about of me- it looks like there's a chrysalis or some sort of insect embedded in my back, but it's just muscle and bone really. I was wondering why- because I haven't lost weight, I'm 10st 3 or 4, which for my height of 5ft 8 is perfectly healthy (though I want to be less, though I didn't say this to her)- and she said it was because I am damaging myself through bad eating. It really and truly isn't. I am eating fine- way, way over the 500 a day I used to do. I haven't been eating a lot round her because I've had a sort-of flu for the past few days and I've left food because it tastes like mucus- but I really haven't lost weight because of it. I've still been a normal amount. Yesterday, for example, we all sat to dinner which was shepherd's pie, ratatouille and peas, which I completely finished ample portions of, and then pudding- ice cream, lemon tart and chocolate sauce. I ate as much as I could but I was having breathing difficulties by the end (because of mucus and general amounts of food), and didn't finish all the pudding, having ate a massive meal. Little Bird takes this as evidence that I was starving myself. It's good that she's on the lookout for this, and lovely that she cares. I like that she cares, I just wish I could convince her that I am, for me, doing well on the diet front. I know I still record it, and I still think I'm pretty big, but I'm not doing ridiculous things about it, and I'm trying to accept it, and not to care anymore. I also think she's got her own issues- she can eat a hell of a lot, she's got a thing about food and guilt, and feeding people so that she doesn't feel like she's eating. She'll starve then binge then exercise. When she does that cycle I just want to hold her hand and tell her she's lovely, she's fine, she doesn't have to do that cycle. I worry about what she is thinking that's making her do it to herself, or that she's making herself vomit- she's certainly sickened over it- I don't judge her, and I would never, ever say anything- food and guilt are far too linked in her mind, and she's always beautiful, but any mention of food would translate as ugly to her. It does to society, it does to her. I don't know what to do. I only stopped when I realised I could eat what and when I wanted, which has helped a lot. I don't think she lets herself do that.
I had a lovely weekend, caked in mud and pretending I was in an Enid Blyton book.
I am wearing some jeans that I thought would be looser but still aren't as tight as they should be, so that's always a bonus. I might wear them home tomorrow.
I want to be in a musical as leading lady. Too much Nancy.
Friday 23 May 2008
1365
That is how many I have eaten today... or is it more?
Oh, a terrible day, of feeling lost and forgotten and like I don't know at all what I'm doing even though I want to do it really well, really, really well. It isn't good.
I think people pity me, and hate me simultaneously. And I hate that.
But Little Bird was good, and made me happier by the virtue of being her own comforting self and joking and laughing with me, and she has made me feel better. I think it is her that I want.
She simply told me everyone else was ridiculous and that I was fine, and then we laughed like always and I remembered how I used to be so scared of her and how I thought she was so cool, and then, suddenly I found out that I could make her laugh too and I wasn't a loser to her... and then we were friends, and I am so very glad.
She sat with one of her feet on my chair and brushed her wrist against mine tonight. Coincidentals are what make up the mainstay of magnetism, and she doesn't even know it, how I elevate her and adore her. She's so very pretty, she's got an almost-doubtful face.
Oh, a terrible day, of feeling lost and forgotten and like I don't know at all what I'm doing even though I want to do it really well, really, really well. It isn't good.
I think people pity me, and hate me simultaneously. And I hate that.
But Little Bird was good, and made me happier by the virtue of being her own comforting self and joking and laughing with me, and she has made me feel better. I think it is her that I want.
She simply told me everyone else was ridiculous and that I was fine, and then we laughed like always and I remembered how I used to be so scared of her and how I thought she was so cool, and then, suddenly I found out that I could make her laugh too and I wasn't a loser to her... and then we were friends, and I am so very glad.
She sat with one of her feet on my chair and brushed her wrist against mine tonight. Coincidentals are what make up the mainstay of magnetism, and she doesn't even know it, how I elevate her and adore her. She's so very pretty, she's got an almost-doubtful face.
Monday 19 May 2008
A Sonnet to the future for us, my dear.
On faded chintz with dusty hair sits my darling
Once so fair. And even now, none can compare
Your eye flits from face to floor, roving inside
Mind's mystery, yours to mine, a gulf or wall.
You are not what once you were, and nor am I
I cannot want you back, and the nodding frame
That bodied you once; your cheerful wrists and
Pretty hair gone slack, is no prison. You now
Want only to sleep, and I too, so we lie down
And I tell you of all the things that I dislike
And those I like at that, watching, where you
used to detract, a moistened eye over silent pearls.
There is no sense in used to or was, because
You are mine, and I accept, you just are. This is you.
Once so fair. And even now, none can compare
Your eye flits from face to floor, roving inside
Mind's mystery, yours to mine, a gulf or wall.
You are not what once you were, and nor am I
I cannot want you back, and the nodding frame
That bodied you once; your cheerful wrists and
Pretty hair gone slack, is no prison. You now
Want only to sleep, and I too, so we lie down
And I tell you of all the things that I dislike
And those I like at that, watching, where you
used to detract, a moistened eye over silent pearls.
There is no sense in used to or was, because
You are mine, and I accept, you just are. This is you.
When we are old.
Now, I want nothing more than to lie on your shoulder and to tell you how all of this makes me feel, and to hear what you think about it. If we cannot stay together, I will be in the same home as you, and we will be together. I will touch your greyed temples and tell you that you look every bit as beautiful as you did before any of this, even if you can't speak back, even if your eyes are rheumy and you do nothing more than dribble food back at me.
I feel bad eating when she cannot. I feel massively fat when she weighs six stones and four pounds, and needs so much more weight on her. My Mum said she used to be big, and meticulous in her house, and the terrible thing is that you can see it in the habit she has of slowly stroking the green velvet, searching for something in the routine, and how she moves tissues into her sleeve, painstakingly tiny movements over purple veins. I feel so much.
I feel bad eating when she cannot. I feel massively fat when she weighs six stones and four pounds, and needs so much more weight on her. My Mum said she used to be big, and meticulous in her house, and the terrible thing is that you can see it in the habit she has of slowly stroking the green velvet, searching for something in the routine, and how she moves tissues into her sleeve, painstakingly tiny movements over purple veins. I feel so much.
Older.
I went to see a vague relative in an old people's home. My Dad's sister is disabled, and that's always been a sort-of tragedy that I didn't realise because she always simply was in a home, in one of those places, and they always say it might be better if she wasn't. It might be.
But those visits always make my Mum and Dad request euthanasia.
I don't hate visiting them at all. I wouldn't mind it, only I feel like I can't talk to my aunt (she's sort of my aunt twice removed) the way I'd like to when everyone else is there watching me. I don't think I'm mother teresa but I don't want them to think I think I am. So instead I sit and watch. My cousin said, "God, I never want to get old". And however much we were all thinking it and feeling terrible, she never should have said it there because you don't know how much the residents know and how they think. And the carers; they just don't care, not a one of them, it looks like. They chat and give us excuses why our relative is losing so much weight so fast and it's not fair. Why is the same state in babies regarded as cute, but these people are shoved off away from view? And why do we want them to improve, why can't we just let them live out their last years without badgering them to remember what their lives were? If I'd been on my own with her, I'd have talked to her (we all did talk to her) and read out loud to her, and maybe sang nice songs to her, and done a crossword with her, or at her. Happy things, because I think now she exists in the moment and can't remember before or after. I'd have made those moments as happy as I could. I wouldn't have said "God I never want to get old". I love my cousin but I could not say that, there, when she acts like they're not people anymore. They ARE people and they need to be cared for, not expected anything of. I think homes should be in the middle of cities and that they should be allowed to go out or in or whatever, and there should be nature tables there and things they can touch and see.
Just because they are nearly dead doesn't mean they should all be confined in that dull dead place with a television blaring at them all day, forcing happiness into a room where they're couched in fear of their own dessicating minds. None of them watch the television, they just bear it because they don't know how to say no. If they could I think they would. I want to cover the place in pictures and proper human voices, not those fake blasting tones that emanate from the box there. It's dreadful; it's like they're rubbing saccharine into dust, and more painful. I hate the lack of effort anyone puts in. The end of someone's life is every bit as important as the beginning, and I can't fathom the way that nobody seems to care, that they're all just left to rot. It makes me sick.
But those visits always make my Mum and Dad request euthanasia.
I don't hate visiting them at all. I wouldn't mind it, only I feel like I can't talk to my aunt (she's sort of my aunt twice removed) the way I'd like to when everyone else is there watching me. I don't think I'm mother teresa but I don't want them to think I think I am. So instead I sit and watch. My cousin said, "God, I never want to get old". And however much we were all thinking it and feeling terrible, she never should have said it there because you don't know how much the residents know and how they think. And the carers; they just don't care, not a one of them, it looks like. They chat and give us excuses why our relative is losing so much weight so fast and it's not fair. Why is the same state in babies regarded as cute, but these people are shoved off away from view? And why do we want them to improve, why can't we just let them live out their last years without badgering them to remember what their lives were? If I'd been on my own with her, I'd have talked to her (we all did talk to her) and read out loud to her, and maybe sang nice songs to her, and done a crossword with her, or at her. Happy things, because I think now she exists in the moment and can't remember before or after. I'd have made those moments as happy as I could. I wouldn't have said "God I never want to get old". I love my cousin but I could not say that, there, when she acts like they're not people anymore. They ARE people and they need to be cared for, not expected anything of. I think homes should be in the middle of cities and that they should be allowed to go out or in or whatever, and there should be nature tables there and things they can touch and see.
Just because they are nearly dead doesn't mean they should all be confined in that dull dead place with a television blaring at them all day, forcing happiness into a room where they're couched in fear of their own dessicating minds. None of them watch the television, they just bear it because they don't know how to say no. If they could I think they would. I want to cover the place in pictures and proper human voices, not those fake blasting tones that emanate from the box there. It's dreadful; it's like they're rubbing saccharine into dust, and more painful. I hate the lack of effort anyone puts in. The end of someone's life is every bit as important as the beginning, and I can't fathom the way that nobody seems to care, that they're all just left to rot. It makes me sick.
Sunday 18 May 2008
Missing
Even though I never had you the way I wanted to I miss not having you, if that makes sense. It doesn't.
'I don't like this piece of me'
You resonate a slap along the line of your stomach. I touch a hand against its gentle arc and one on your face, the twin arc in your cheekbone.
'I adore all of you'.
And we shift to accomodate each other, your head and mine parallel on twin pillows, chest touching, eyes together and knees as well.
'Here'
I bring your hand to my neck. I hate people touching my neck.
'To show you I don't mind'.
And then to my own imperfect stomach. Someone once said, 'Her lovely imperfect figure'. It is perfect to me, and I will never tell you what they said even if they meant it well.
A soft sussurous O escapes your mouth and I swallow, and you feel it, and kiss me, and your eyes say, 'I want to please you' and mine say the same. Your earnest face looks quite different in the twilight. How could anyone not think you were utterly wonderful? I am glad that we are here together in the silent shadows cocooned in your bed.
Why don't you dance, I wonder. I think you are ashamed of your body and that is the reason you bob in a masculine way. I know why you go for the other boys, it is because you think you are boring and you don't want to waste someone interesting. I love being boring with you. If that is what you call it when the magnets that attract us seem to pull through our clothes and make me ache to solace you. Let me.
'I don't like this piece of me'
You resonate a slap along the line of your stomach. I touch a hand against its gentle arc and one on your face, the twin arc in your cheekbone.
'I adore all of you'.
And we shift to accomodate each other, your head and mine parallel on twin pillows, chest touching, eyes together and knees as well.
'Here'
I bring your hand to my neck. I hate people touching my neck.
'To show you I don't mind'.
And then to my own imperfect stomach. Someone once said, 'Her lovely imperfect figure'. It is perfect to me, and I will never tell you what they said even if they meant it well.
A soft sussurous O escapes your mouth and I swallow, and you feel it, and kiss me, and your eyes say, 'I want to please you' and mine say the same. Your earnest face looks quite different in the twilight. How could anyone not think you were utterly wonderful? I am glad that we are here together in the silent shadows cocooned in your bed.
Why don't you dance, I wonder. I think you are ashamed of your body and that is the reason you bob in a masculine way. I know why you go for the other boys, it is because you think you are boring and you don't want to waste someone interesting. I love being boring with you. If that is what you call it when the magnets that attract us seem to pull through our clothes and make me ache to solace you. Let me.
Friday 16 May 2008
Just listen here.
I am now thinking of you.
Not Little Bird. I think of you, darling, glass simple and beautiful (not that she isn't).
I am going to write the same effusive post as always but if I didn't do it here I'd tell you, then where would I be?
I think you're beautiful and funny and interesting. And I love it when you lay on my shoulder and tap your head on me. I know that you need someone so badly, and I want it to be me that you need. I adore you and I don't trust you. You don't always say the right thing, but I like that. I like you. Only, you don't like people liking you because you think it's needy, and I think it's low self esteem but we'll get to that later. I don't think you're a loser. I think your mother sounds terrible but I'm not going to tell you that either. I am going to tell you that I like you, a lot. And I will be silent if you tell me your problems and know then that you need me and it's alright for me to need you in return. I might maybe quietly hold your pale hand in the dark and put it onto my neck to show you I can stand you touching me there in the place I don't trust anyone to touch. Then I'd not have to say the rest. I'd just swallow.
Not Little Bird. I think of you, darling, glass simple and beautiful (not that she isn't).
I am going to write the same effusive post as always but if I didn't do it here I'd tell you, then where would I be?
I think you're beautiful and funny and interesting. And I love it when you lay on my shoulder and tap your head on me. I know that you need someone so badly, and I want it to be me that you need. I adore you and I don't trust you. You don't always say the right thing, but I like that. I like you. Only, you don't like people liking you because you think it's needy, and I think it's low self esteem but we'll get to that later. I don't think you're a loser. I think your mother sounds terrible but I'm not going to tell you that either. I am going to tell you that I like you, a lot. And I will be silent if you tell me your problems and know then that you need me and it's alright for me to need you in return. I might maybe quietly hold your pale hand in the dark and put it onto my neck to show you I can stand you touching me there in the place I don't trust anyone to touch. Then I'd not have to say the rest. I'd just swallow.
Todays consumption
3 tsps of a brownie-100
a smoothie-150
brie and grape sandwich-400
two pieces of rocky road-400
vodka and diet coke-250
two sundried tomatoes and some pesto-100
1450. That's not bad.
a smoothie-150
brie and grape sandwich-400
two pieces of rocky road-400
vodka and diet coke-250
two sundried tomatoes and some pesto-100
1450. That's not bad.
Thursday 8 May 2008
Unacceptance.
Or rejection. Not getting into drama school is hard luck; or hard.
I applied for three-year courses and my friend (who is excessively talented) applied for one year courses. She's only been offered a three year... but I think that it's because I'm worse than her that my two schools didn't accept me. She's not been accepted anywhere that rejected me, to be fair.
Yet Here’s a spot. The spot is that I failed at what it is that most I want. I feel everyone would be better than what I am at what I’ve got.
So here’s a spot.
Unacceptance sounds better than cold hard rejection, at any rate.
I don't know. I'm slowly getting used to being completely and utterly mediocre; I don't particularly like myself. I feel like I need to be more than what I am. I'm not going to cry about it because that's not my style but I do want to shout and scream and find something that I'm brilliant at that I like.
And I don't think it's acting. And that kills me.
Here is a list of food, anyway, back to routine:
chocolate coated brazil nuts- 730
a smoothie-140
Subway bmt six inch-460
cookie-200
a biscuit-80
hot chocolate-40
1650
I suppose that's OK. Not amazing. Not terrible, like me, really.
I applied for three-year courses and my friend (who is excessively talented) applied for one year courses. She's only been offered a three year... but I think that it's because I'm worse than her that my two schools didn't accept me. She's not been accepted anywhere that rejected me, to be fair.
Yet Here’s a spot. The spot is that I failed at what it is that most I want. I feel everyone would be better than what I am at what I’ve got.
So here’s a spot.
Unacceptance sounds better than cold hard rejection, at any rate.
I don't know. I'm slowly getting used to being completely and utterly mediocre; I don't particularly like myself. I feel like I need to be more than what I am. I'm not going to cry about it because that's not my style but I do want to shout and scream and find something that I'm brilliant at that I like.
And I don't think it's acting. And that kills me.
Here is a list of food, anyway, back to routine:
chocolate coated brazil nuts- 730
a smoothie-140
Subway bmt six inch-460
cookie-200
a biscuit-80
hot chocolate-40
1650
I suppose that's OK. Not amazing. Not terrible, like me, really.
Tuesday 6 May 2008
Fat feeling.
If I sailed across the sea my love
In a boat of metal twined
I'd row in solemn rhapsodies towards your bovine eyes
Or draw a route across the waves set akin to your spine
And remember composed melodies when we lay soft supine.
Today:
biscuit-80
bran flakes and raisins-300
380
sandwich-264
chocolate-180
444
apple-40
smoothie-120
biscuit-90
tuna sandwich-260
510
1334
Considering, this seems a fairly small amount, I feel like I've been eating all day. Weird.
I feel really fat because some unflattering pictures have been tagged of me on facebook. Strange how that can do something to you....
Here's the thing. I went running last night with Bird. She's lovely. Ridiculously so. I just feel like telling her all the time that she is; I don't though. She slows down even though she could go faster and hare off into the distance (I'm not so kind and jump whatever's around, show off). She said that she felt so lazy today that she couldn't even be bothered to flick a feeding mosquito away- she just let it feed. I said this was generous, she said lazy. We had a long discussion on the pointlessness of our degree and of literature in general.
In a boat of metal twined
I'd row in solemn rhapsodies towards your bovine eyes
Or draw a route across the waves set akin to your spine
And remember composed melodies when we lay soft supine.
Today:
biscuit-80
bran flakes and raisins-300
380
sandwich-264
chocolate-180
444
apple-40
smoothie-120
biscuit-90
tuna sandwich-260
510
1334
Considering, this seems a fairly small amount, I feel like I've been eating all day. Weird.
I feel really fat because some unflattering pictures have been tagged of me on facebook. Strange how that can do something to you....
Here's the thing. I went running last night with Bird. She's lovely. Ridiculously so. I just feel like telling her all the time that she is; I don't though. She slows down even though she could go faster and hare off into the distance (I'm not so kind and jump whatever's around, show off). She said that she felt so lazy today that she couldn't even be bothered to flick a feeding mosquito away- she just let it feed. I said this was generous, she said lazy. We had a long discussion on the pointlessness of our degree and of literature in general.
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