But summer fades to autumn fields as spring to beckoning winter yields, and Philomel becometh dumb; the rest complains of cares to come.

Calorie count:

Tortellini (400)

A tex mex chicken wrap (400)

A cookie (a big one) (300)

Hot chocolate (40)

Should I say the cookie was 400, just in case? It could have been. Anyway, it is half past ten and I am under my calorie allowance, albeit minus my five fruit and veg today. Tomorrow I must go shopping for my legume needs. I did my walking today as well, I put on my mp3 player and danced all over the concrete.

Moments such as these are what separates fatties from skinnies; I could easily eat lots at this minute, but I want to be thin more. Yes, I do. I do I do I do. So instead, I will listen to music and draw, and of course write this.

I could have two tangerines.

When I ate 500 a day, I used to discount fruit. I reasoned that I needed it.

Now it should fit within the allowance as should I.

I am becoming increasingly paranoid about my body. I feel that when people say things, such as the other day, one of my seminar tutors, "we've all got different shapes and sizes in this room", about feminist writing (we were all discussing a poem called my hips) I looked at everyone and thought, they must be evaluating where they line up, weight wise. And I will be right at the top of the scale, and consequently the bottom of the hierarchy. My play, as well; they'll all be looking at the other eleven girls, who are pretty and slim, and then at me... the odd one out. My director said, the other day, about the last section of my monologue, "you're an attractive, likeable girl delivering this to people that like you, confidently but you care as well". That is the problem. I do not feel attractive; I do not feel that most people in that audience will like me. Attractiveness is something you can act; you can maintain a confident facade, and smile. So can I, then?

I do know where this all comes from. When I was little, my mother used to tell me that I should dress nicely as it reflected on them if I didn't, it made them look like a negligent family. She was completely right, it did; I dressed in the worst clothes, the tattiest and most worn. I maintained that it shouldn't matter how I looked; people should judge me for who I was. I wanted to be seen as the deceptively tatty intelligent street-urchin type child, I wanted to look like the loner that would ultimately succeed- I can remember this, from long ago. I was fat; I didn't want to look like that. Anyway, from an early age I have known that people were watching me, and judging me, and though I stick by my ten year old ausblick that that is wrong, I have shuttled over to my mother's that it does still occur. Frequently. Now my aspirations are vaguely more realistic. I want people to think I am intelligent, quirky and that I stand out from the crowd. I'd love them to think I was slim, with an enviable figure, but I know that won't be happening for a while.

I auditioned for some more plays today; one of the directors wanted me to do a callback, I'll know about the rest later on. I think it was because I was willing to stay for a long time rather than blinding talent that got me the callback; what a shame.

I choose the title of my posts by selecting the line that pops into my head. Sometimes it's what I'm listening to at that moment; today, it is the reply to the shepherd. I adore that poem.