Stuff the goose.

I am worried about getting fat over Christmas, because I have gone home. I have a lot of access to lots of food, and this doesn't bode well for my already expansive waistline. I keep catching glimpses of my porcine form in the mirror, and it isn't pretty. Not that I ever will be, but my body is one thing that (through will, determination and pure sweat) I can change. So I resolve not to eat stupid amounts of food.

Today I ate:

1 mini mince pie (65)
Jacket potato with cheese and beans (400)
2 small sausages, scoop of mash potato and broccoli (400)
2 chocolates (100)
An apple (40)

So I have consumed 1000 calories. At least. And done little excercize to warrant it. I always have trouble spelling exercise. Yesterday I ate more. I'm not doing as much walking because there's no cause to.

God, I do hate being flabby. It's bizarre because the people I am attracted to are never stick thin, I adore their shapes. But I hate my own, I loathe it. I hate the blocked feeling I get from my own limbs, and the way I look in photographs. I hate not being able to fit certain items of clothes in my wardrobe, and the protrusion of my stomach. The chafe of my thighs together and the chunkiness of my calves and arms with a floppy sac under each one. I hate my chin that is indistinguishable from my neck.

But I love her gently rounded stomach and that her chin is all one line, leading down to perfect body that's soft and beautiful. Her legs and limbs are slim and powerful and feminine. She is really really beautiful, and I disgust myself but it doesn't translate to my view of other people. Well, they aren't pale and spotty like I am.

What else? I read her blog again, after resolving that I wouldn't, and she's having a lovely time at home. Which is good.

My dad is getting on my nerves, which is horrible because some people haven't got one, and he is lovely. But it's his constant wanting to have clever discussions with me, and need for attention. He's got three weeks of attention coming his way, he doesn't need it so much! But it's lovely that he's so interested, some parents are negligent and abusive or absent. Her Dad is dead. I feel ungrateful for moaning.