Still now you're waiting to grow, inside you're old.

Today, recorded elsewhere in print, in paper and ink, the thoughts I think, the things I eat, were fourteen hundred calories. And the lack of movement I have jigged makes this unacceptable. I took some photos of myself and all that stared back at me was an ugly fat girl.

Nowhere in literature was there ever a heroine that was ugly, or fat. They are exclusive categories; you may be one or the other, but to be the focus of any literary attention, not necessarily desirable attention, you must posess a few flaws but none in abundance.

So I'll never be a heroine until I slim. Who was it that said "It is a strange feeling when you realise you are no longer the heroine in your own life"?

In five years... ideally. I would be powerful in my chosen career path, well travelled, many of the things on the list below, possibly with my first child on the way. If I was ready, in a good relationship that would last, and able. I would be debt free, or almost, at least. I know where I want to live. I want to live in a flat on a top floor, with a balcony and a cat, possibly with a partner. I would have a breakfast bar, some big glass jars separating room from room, a matte kitchen, wooden floors, huge open windows to let in the breeze, simple mats on the floor, an open plan dining and living room with an L shaped corduroy sofa and it would be clean. It would overlook a park, and possibly be in Germany. At night, I (or we) would sit on the balcony, and read or do the crossword in the moonlight with a lamp between us and a bottle of beer. In the winter there would be snow and we (or I) would repeat this nightly ritual indoors. I do not want to get married; why should a piece of paper make any difference to a relationship? Do I need to certify that I want to be with this one person forever? No, I would be with someone I was secure enough to love without needing that.

I am not suspecting that any of this will happen, or even that it would make me happy was I suddenly to achieve it all, especially the things about the flat; it isn't your surroundings that make you happy, it's who you're with. For the moment, these are my dreams. They can always change. I thought, at around seven or eight, that to leave home would be horrible and terrifyingly lonely. I believed I would get married around twenty, become a detective, or a vet, or an artist or writer, and have children. Those are no longer my dreams; I want different things, and I am prepared for change. I would still be a writer or artist, maybe even a detective. I loved animals (I don't so much anymore) but I grow nauseous on visceral occasions. I have left home and I am happy. I am still a spinster, or bachelorette, whatever the term is nowadays.

If I could be anything I would be:

Slim. Obviously. I would weigh about eight and a half stones. Eight stones would be lovely. It would take me a long time to get there. In order to reach this, I need to begin to exercise.

Beautiful. Or would I be beautiful? I don't want to be a permatanned bimbo, no. I would have red hair (as in Lady Lazarus; I rise out of the ash with my red hair, and I eat men like air.) I would have huge vampiric eyes all the colours of the world, sparking with flecks of ideas. I would be as pale as whitened bone, which served to highlight darkened eyebrows and long eyelashes. I would have white, even teeth in a wide red mouth and an aquiline nose. I would have a stem like neck and a strange jaw, almost prominent, with sharp cheekbones.

A little bit shorter. Towering over my friends is no fun; I am not so tall, but I dislike being made to feel more masculine than I already do.

Clever. Clever enough to get a first without trying, and to have succeeded at getting into higher brow places of learning.

Perspicacious, intimidating and self confident. With the ability to make everyone laugh. I think I make people laugh, but at me not with me.

Some kind of journalist, or lawyer, with a lot of power over what I wrote. These are achievable. I must begin to build a portfolio.

Organized.

Many of these are within my capabilities. I need to believe in myself more. I need more zest.

To get back the feeling of acting, I need to act as if I am in an audition as opposed to in front of my director, whom I have foolishly enshrined. I need to start getting up earlier. I need to do lots of things.

Here are the things I am looking forward to doing after this Friday:

Waxing my armpits
This may sound painful, but I enjoy the smoothness I am left with. Two minutes of pain for weeks of silky smooth oxsters is a good compromise.

Going into the city centre to browse charity shops and eat cake for breakfast
These are two of my favourite activities.

Getting drunk with my friends
Usually I despise plans to get drunk; the gradual loss of sobriety should be unintended, but I feel this is a special occasion.

Beginning an exercise routine
As then I will at least feel I am doing something to negate my ludicrous urge to stuff my face.

Auditioning for more plays
As I can completely let go in auditions; if they're going to be judging you, you might as well give it all you've got and hold nothing back.

Paying more attention to what I am wearing, and having time to moisturise my legs in the morning
As I have let this slide by the wayside.

I am also looking forward to seeing my family in a few weeks, they are planning holidays. I love my family and get on really well with all of them (I refer here to my nuclear family, and a certain branch of the non nuclear segment). They are accepting and encouraging without being completely in the clouds about the realms of what it is possible to achieve.