You'd never think that crazy things were running through my head.

I love my family, and I feel loved by them. My Mum took me shopping today (and though she insists on telling me I always need the next size up, not in a nasty way, it's matter of fact because I will try to squeeze into sizes that are too small) and it was lots of fun- tiring but fun. She considers me an equal, which is always a boost to self esteem. I'm actually an adult now.

Mum said I'm mature and that she's impressed with my outlook on material things (i.e. that essentially they won't make you happy). Which is true, but I wonder how much I'd subscribe to those views if I was beautiful? Would I still want to eschew commercialism if I knew it held benefits for me?

I think if I was beautiful, I could make anything look good, so I suppose it wouldn't be a problem; I could wear the same cheap shit as always. Or if I was thin would I think I deserved all of the ridiculous clothes? They are ridiculous; just bits of fabric that make you look good but not necessarily a better person. But I do love being able to express myself through what I'm wearing. I wish I could fancy dress all the time. Not to look sexy or anything but just to be something else for a day. Or even just to make my own clothes, that would be fun. I want to be a living work of art, like Marchesa Luisa Casati.

Anyway. There hasn't been any poetry for a while has there? It isn't because I haven't been thinking of her because I have. I haven't touched her in so long that I don't know quite what the tingle feels like anymore. That worries me. It's around this time that its worst, at night. Because even though it was only a few times, I'm used to sleeping wrapped round her, and here the bed is uncomfortably soft with too many pillows. It's like being surrounded by a huge dry wad of polyethene cotton when all I really want is some human contact. It's too comfortable, too cosy and esconced, all too much. I am used to my cold room that makes the heat of my bed all the more desirable, the house that lets my cheap old jacket take the place of regular central heating. And, of course, because it was cold we used to sit close together, or lie close together, to be warm.

I wish I could start to email her again, or talk to her properly or anything but I worry she doesn't want to talk to me at all. If I was sportier, if I was thinner, if I was prettier, if I wasn't as emotionally barren, if I retained my emotions more, if I was less self obsessed. It could be any and all of these. I wish I knew which one. Or do I? Then I'd just fixate even more on whatever it was.