Gurning and yearning.

Ah. Lots of lots.

Last night he said he didn't expect me to be so broad, especially in comparison to the Architect, who is so narrow shouldered. He said I had muscular arms; he was trying to compliment me. It didn't work. I just felt like the incredible hulk- he said it suited me. I don't want to suit it though. This is exactly the feeling I want ever to avoid giving Little Bird, who left yesterday. I was meant to see her off but I couldn't. That makes me feel desperately sad. I wanted to hug her and make her happy, though I probably couldn't do that. But I could have let her know I cared about her.

I took some MDMA last night; I've had cocaine and weed in the past too, but this is the first time on a pill. It was wonderful. I had an excellent time; I just wanted to dance forever. As I don't usually become overly discursive, I didn't blab my heart out, I just was happy to chitchat to whoever about all manner of things. I convinced an Irish man that I was Irish, which impressed me no end. Now I feel a bit tired and spacey.

I never worry that I'll get addicted to drugs. I really should. It's bizarre that I think it's bad to take paracetamol (I think it's a placebo that just gives you headaches and makes you more dependent on it) and yet I'm fine to experiment with things. I do it with people I trust. I used to have a rule I'd never buy... but last night I did. I just had such a good time. I know that's the problem, you have a great time, you want another and another... I would do it again. I'm not going to do it forever though. It makes you not eat as well; I've had about five hundred calories today, and it's six pm. Which is only a plus for me. I might be ravenous tomorrow though.

It made me gurn, it made me clench my jaw, but nothing worse than that.

Yesterday I ate:

salmon and rice-500
salad-50
a lindor egg-150
700
some cake-300
some soup-200
two bits of cake-300
800

1500. That's ok.

Today I ate a pot of pesto salad (400) and two teaspoons of chocolate sauce (60) and a teaspoon of cream (40).

I could have danced all night. I bet Eliza Doolittle wasn't on crack though. Well, neither was I.

I'd never tell my parents. My Dad would accept it, but be worried and maybe disappointed. My Mum would be worried sick. I'd tell them if I was addicted, but I'm not about to blather it all out when I'm just experimenting- I don't think they want to know. It would be like discussing sex with them- they tell you the basics and you work the rest out. My Mum works with drug addicts, and she'd be terrified I'd waste my potential and end up homeless. I think she expects that I'll experiment though.