I love to listen to Beethoven.

Alright.

I ate 540 this morning, written elsewhere. Then tonight, about 300 for stew, and 400 for ice cream, and 50 for mini eggs. All in all, about 1300. And a big walk. Ice cream is hard to gauge; I probably ate more. But I did do about six miles, so it's not so bad.

Oh darling, did I offend?

What people think does matter an awful lot to you, doesn't it. Moving off for a new start, and now this. I wish I could open you up, and open me up to you and say, here I am. Always here. You're lovely.

I like you a lot. I think all good things, not just about how you look but about how you are. You darling. It's funny, how some things just make people awkward; I wish I'd never mentioned the word 'fatty'. I won't anymore.

At work today, I told people about the running joke my siblings and I have, the one about being morbidly obese texans. The two people I told, JM and NP, looked blankly, and JM said, "But you're not obese!" It was as if I'd admitted an eating disorder. It's only a joke! I eat normally. Maybe she's spotted the way I leave my crusts. That's nowhere near an indication. I don't do the calorie chat, and even if I did, the teasing helps. It makes being fat not such a big thing, and it makes me feel like I'm not fat, if I can be teased to my face about it. It's good.

She was beautiful today. I want to talk about her, so I discuss her androgynous attributes. Stretchmarks and kids, but were they adopted? Thick hair. Long lean legs and arms. Big hands, big feet, broad shoulders, like an athelete gone slightly to seed. Strong jaw and features, thick neck, determined mouth. A race winner. A champion. She wears trousers (but then, wouldn't I want to wear skirts all the time if I was transsexual?) and her chest is flattened, with no collarbone. Her chest looks like mine, except she's got breasts. Or are they fake? Mine are enhanced by my A cup bra. It means I don't have cleavage. Just collarbones and flat expanse, then bra. She's similar, but she's got breasts and no collarbone. She never eats with us, but she does eat. She's clumsy- she tipped a plate of food over herself today, and I laughed but it was only because she looked lovely doing it. She didn't find it so amusing, bless her. Working out whether she's transsexual, but it's only because I want to talk about her. I don't actually care at all. She's beautiful, with her iron grey bob cut and her serious eyebrows. When she writes, she sticks her tongue out in concentration and she crumples up to lean on her long legs. It looks like the pen's too small for her. I like her. She's honest and shy, and there's something geeky about her that I find irresistible. It's so strange, because if you put me and her in a line up and got asked to pair people, we'd be the last. I look like a teen, and she's fifty at least. But she's beautiful. More than pretty, not at all pretty. Handsome. Dignified, is the word, with that carthorse walk that's so businesslike.

I'd like very much to work her out, what she likes and doesn't like, but she's so private. I know what she finds funny, and how she tries to make jokes, and I can make her laugh. I am good at making the people I like laugh, and I hold that close to my heart, when she laughs at something silly I've observed. I keep staring, just because she's lovely and I can't help it. Over familiar, I think. Private, or is it because she's the boss that she's keeping away? I can't fathom it. Distance from colleagues. She could have stayed and ate cake the other day, only she didn't want to. Strange. Has she got some kind of eating problem? I bet she was bullied, and that's why she stays away. She is afeared. And their fitness now doth unmake you...you were so much more the man. Clumsy and lovely. She told me off for going off for a fag with the others. Tutting. I liked it.