I am a chimbley, a chimbley sweep.

Eating today
Tortellini (400)
sultanas (100)

Pic and Mix, 125g, liquorice allsorts and brazil nuts coated in chocolate (500)

a hot chocolate (40)
stir fry omlette: 2 eggs, tomatoes, onions, mushrooms and cheese. (200)
sultanas (100)

Goddamnit. I shall never be stick limbed with seraphim and seaweed. 840 add 500 is... 1340. Same as yesterday. It's probably about 1400 actually. Damn damn damn. I have split the above items into meals; the way I eat is strange. I walked my four miles. It is snowing here, how lovely.

Nice things my friend told me today: that her friends like me, and that my hair colour is beautiful. Both of these were good things, but I almost feel that people are coerced into telling me my hair colour is nice as it is fairly distinctive and if people don't say its nice then it must be disgusting. It can't ever just be in the middle like normal hair colours. I had a good day of revision... ish.

I asked her if she wanted to come to the library and she said no... I wonder if it is because she hates me or really works better at home?

I also had a one on one rehersal, which was horrific. I am desperate to impress my director (stupid, I know, as it's only amateur theatre) and in my desperation, was unable to act. It was classic corpsing; I couldn't put any emotion into my lines and now I'm scared to read them again, in case they don't get any better. It was worse because he was so lovely to me about it and very encouraging. Then I wanted to please him more, I could hear myself going wrong but I somehow lost control of my vocal chords, and mental abilities. It was really bad, I've not had that sort of problem with acting before; I am feeling like I haven't got any control lately. I'm just about keeping my head above water financially, academia is down the pan, there is noone for me on the horizon of love, I am calorifically shit and my fashion sense is fast disappearing in correlation to my weight gain. Ok, let's look at the good things in life: your friends. I adore my friends and housemates, though I am constantly worried that they dislike me. I... am unencumbered by children.

God there's got to be more about me than that that I can enjoy!

I cannot cry. This may seem strange, given my disposition to whinging. But I can't, pure and simple. I cried last at my Grandmother's funeral, that was six years and a month ago. I dislike showing emotion and equate it with weakness, as I used to cry at losing arguments with my parents and it means pity and a shunning of everything I've said as emotional. I hate pity, a point I have reiterated many a time.

I am also classed, by many of my friends, as a cheery person. I have been compared to a red squirrel, as I am fairly energetic and jumpy, though not, I hope, as if I am suffering tardive dyskynesia. I suppose I would rather be feline (this comparison has been made once). I think I am all too morose to be a squirrel; I would class myself as... at the moment, slow, dull... a buzzard. A hippo? A block of wood? A corpse, given my acting. A crocodile, likely to snap. I don't know.