Am I too dirty, am I too flirty, do I not like what you like?

Nutrition based waste of space:

tortellini and tomato puree (400)
sultanas (50)
salmon, yoghurt and spinach on a slice of toast (400)
sultanas (50)
an options hot chocolate (40)
porridge, sultanas, yoghurt. (400)

Ok. So 1340. If it goes down a little bit every day, that's good. I can see that I need more fruit, but it seems pointless to buy it when I won't be here the day after tomorrow.

Scoprophilic accounts.

I learnt that word the other day. It means to derive pleasure from looking. We're all scoprophiliacs, unless you're blind.

I thought of the start of a song about a girl who wants to become a page three girl today:

Plain Jane on a quest for fame
She'd already be rich, but the mirror disdains
So she slathers on tan and begins the refrain
Make up, make out, make every day the same.

Stumbling out of a hackney on a friday night
Hacks write that she's a total sight
But nothing compares to the ubiquitous fright
Of the line, "you're too old love, no, not tonight".

And maybe she resembles love's young dream
Though in real life she'd make you want to scream
Looks more like a businessman in drag
A good little sell, a clapped out old slag.

If you're going into the vending of flesh
Why contemplate a philosophical mess?
You'll earn more easier lying on your back
Than posing vacuously and taking the rap.

I don't know about that... I think it could be better. It's a bit Tess Of D'Urbervilles inspired. Not that she ever ran off and became a page three girl. Tess is fairly self-flagellating, but I suppose that's what you get when your parents are alcoholics. And you're a product of a chauvinist society, which also happens to be class ridden. She had the odds stacked against her from the start. It was always to be, Hardy says. Show me the child at seven, I'll show you a man, or so the saying goes.

I had a dilemma today over whether to put Beth Ditto on my wall. I think she's fantastic, and I really like her views; however, I'm not so enamoured with her music. The only fatties on my walls at the moment are Stephen Fry and two of myself. Helen Mirren, playing Shakespeare's Cleopatra (a role I covet) is by no means fat, but her BMI is normal, I'd say. Beth Ditto would even out my wall's weight complex. But I didn't put her up, even so. She wasn't wearing amazing clothes, which is atypical; when she is, she's going up there. My own wishes are refracted back at me all day. And I won't ever measure up. My felt tips are running out, and consequently all the things I draw have to have blue hair. Today has been a boring day.

I like her and I like him. My bombazine doll is off elsewhere, obviously, as she was never really mine. She loves someone else and never loved me. That is not fine. I wish I knew for certain; I am roughly ninety percent sure. The girl she is in love with (the one I think she is in love with, for all I know it could be someone else. Not me) is dark haired and fiery eyed, self confident, witty, they click. I am jealous beyond belief. It was something she said a while ago, "I love it when people don't know they're beautiful". Well, that would be this girl. She's what you'd call handsome, or beautiful. She's tall, and maybe fatter than me. Is she? See, I know it's ridiculous comparing myself but I can almost feel I've won. I can't win anywhere else, you see. She's got that list of complementary adjectives and I have got a mannish physique and a diminished intellect.

He is mine; I love the feeling with men that you have them completely in your thrall. I did get a little tingle with him. He's not different; I know I've got the upper hand. With her it was scary, I felt like she knew everything, as if I couldn't hide from her laser gaze. I know that I can unveil myself to him sheet by sheet; I feel less embarrassed by sex because he doesn't know anything else about me, if that makes sense. I can pretend to be clever, or learned, or anything I want. Self-confident. Witholding information is where I draw my power from, which makes the reader of this blog deific. I like him. I wish I had a bit more time to develop a craving for him. Maybe it will come. Maybe not. Maybe I should find someone else. I'll give it six weeks.