Stupid Girl.

Eating today:

wrap, thai chicken (300)
two oranges (40)
two chocolate pieces (60)
cookie dough (250)
soup (160)
an apple (40)
Sausage mushroom and onion stir fry (200)
half a cake (100)
cookie dough (70)
raisins (130)
coleslaw (100)

Ok. 1340. I have walked about four or four and a half miles today. I don't know if this is enough... well, nothing is happening yet. I know it won't go for a while, but it feels so annoying to have this tyre round my middle when I am endeavouring to wipe it clean away.

I can't think of many things to say to her lately... I have become a sort of mute. I am terrified... terrified is too strong. Worried she will think I am stupid, or that she does, so in order not to compound this view I remain silent. It's when she turns her back, or when I see her back, I am reminded that once she wouldn't mind if I went and touched her shoulder lightly. Or clasped her middle. She used to... when I was cooking, she used to first touch the small of my back and then put her head on my shoulder. Remembering makes the bolus rise up in my throat.

Oh how I adore
And abhor

Abhor is for me. Adore is for her. She'll probably never know... even when I get drunk I solemnly resolve not to send her a text.

Strolling round the lake
Respite from work
Retrailing conversations
And dampening shoes
Corroding winds
And diminutive things


Someone showed me photos of me today that were hideous, taken three weeks ago, and I doubt I've improved. Chunky legs, flabby arms, double chin, broad shoulders... they're horrible. I hope the camera adds thirty pounds, fifty, sixty. I know it doesn't lie. Neither does the mirror. I know I am getting fatter because photographs don't correspond to what I see... the mirror is bad, photos are worse, I am drawing fatter... the centre cannot hold.

So I keep under 1200 instead and hope that does the trick. Not today. But tomorrow I will. I will rise and shine, I will not pine.

I do not spend my days pining, contrary to this. I usually arise, make my way to education, stay around, learn, learn, learn, return, sortie with people, talk to my comrades of housing.... I am in a play, I do things. It seems that writing brings out the melancholia. Where are my smelling salts?