Old cravings: or, all idols have wooden feet.

Today some of the women I work with have decided to weigh themselves once a week, on a Friday. This information will not be publicised. It's just a small group to help them lose weight. This, for me, is slippy slope territory. I haven't weighed myself for years, and I weigh eleven stones and four pounds. My colleagues, who know nothing of my odd food blip, were shocked I weighed that much. "But we thought you'd weigh about eight". "I can't believe you weigh that much". I was, of course, complimented. Being tall and broad counts for something, and putting on muscle easily, "you must be built solid". But even so, it makes me want to lose weight for next week. I wasn't even doing it with the thought in mind that I'd weigh myself every week; I was curious.

I already know that MC and assorted others are into weight loss. But I found out today that MH is participating in weighing club. This confuses me. My wish to be slender stems from a desire to be respected. I cannot be respected any other way; I must slim, therefore. MH, however, has all the respect she could possibly need. She controls swathes of unruly adolescents, calms, soothes, orders. Is obeyed. There is no deficit- and no one would call her fat, and if anyone ever did in my presence then I'd contradict them immediately. I've got no doubt that she's got a band of followers that would do the same. CW is the same; she's not in the weight loss club, but she makes frequent comments, "you think I'm going to get my fat legs through there?" to a student, "you're so energetic, I know I should lose some weight" to me. But, just as MH has no need, neither does she. She's perfectly well respected, loved and admired without needing to do anything about her appearance. I need to change my weight; I've got nothing else to offer, because I can't be respected and admired. I can't control swathes, not at the moment anyway. That these classroom sorcerers, these magnificent, invulnerable warrior women depend on a scale baffles me. It seems like a regression. They aspire to weigh less, to waste away, to negate themselves. Why? To look younger, or be more aesthetically pleasing. To be more childlike and vulnerable and look delicate; pointless aims, negating all their achievements. I am sure it's nothing to do with fitness. It's as if they're throwing away their experience chasing after something they don't need. This is what I do, not what they do.

They are brilliant not despite of the way they look, but because of it. They maintain a presence in the room; they're not wispy, disposable people that fade into the background or flap into nothingness. They are bright and strong, and noticed. Both put effort into maintaining their appearance, and both are attractive. They are forceful, powerful, perfect bodies. And they want to waste them away.

I know that their aims are probably not as sinister as mine were, and that they're probably not trying to waste away. I just want to tell them that it's not necessary for people like them. I want to tell them to enjoy themselves and chow down on that cake, or ten cakes, or whatever they fancy, because they could be the size of houses, wheeled in on plinths, and they'd still command a room. Chow down and continue being brilliant. All of those things that thin people are supposed to have, the ability to make people stop and stare, the ability to look excellent, are things that these women already possess. It makes me wonder whether I'll ever stop wanting to be thin. Those women awakened a gradual epiphany in me; that you could be a normal size without losing everyone's respect, that you could provoke wonder and be brilliant without needing to have the perfect body. But if they're chasing an ideal, then anyone can slip.

Cross Examination

The valiance post was a description of a friend I know who is maybe an English size fourteen, or size sixteen tops, who I think is beautiful. Her beauty is not an ideal I would attempt to conform to; it is not my own ideal, nor is it hers. She would like to be thinner, I would like to be thinner. As such I do not wish to conform to the ideal of Valiance. I could not; I know that whatever I do I will not be a soft proportioned person, and my face is unlike hers anyway. There is something blunt about my face and tough about my limbs. I am of an athletic build; euphemistically. This means, otherwise, that I am broad shouldered and as such carry excess weight well but have a tendency to look masculine as opposed to feminine. I can handle this. If I was describing myself, what would I say? Well, I too am pale. Masculinity is no bad thing. I am as strong as a piece of steel, flexible and coiled like a spring. Tensile strength is one of my best attributes. Yes, then. I am a sheet of steel that repells the sun, that glints as it shimmers softly over water, that can bend and stretch and do.

I watched TV the other day and four women with normal bodies swam the channel. That they could do that, that their bodies, though aged, were capable of that gave me enormous respect for what my body can do, what its potential is and why I should be neither over nor under loading it with food or subjecting it to constant criticism because it is a useful tool, nothing more and nothing less.

Tragic fatties.

Well, two things scared me weight wise today. I've ate a vegetable stir fry with egg and raisins and yoghurt- that was scary because I felt like before, I didn't want to stop snacking and I hate that feeling. The answer is to eat more regularly. That resulted in my waist increasing to 28.5 inches, but I remeasured without clothes and it was 27 again, so no spontaneous weight gain has occured. And my arse was 38.5. Unfortunately my chest is 36.5. I don't know why I expect my chest to increase when I lose weight, because it's never been well endowed. I suppose I do want this perfect physique... not that I want huge, page three girl boobs, but just a C cup instead of an A might be nice. 34A is such a depressing size; broad and flat like a prairie. Come on. If I wasn't flat chested I might not be as bendy, and I'd only find that boobs got in the way eventually.

The other thing was a woman today. She wasn't scary, just tragic. I tried not to stare. On campus there is a building which houses two shops that sell food and a cafe. I saw her first in one of the shops and then in the cafe. She had to weigh at least twenty stones. The tragedy was that she was wearing thin girl clothes. The feminist in me hates that I speak like this. Leggings, denim miniskirt, hoodie. It was all very... deluded? No, I think she knew how she looked. I am a bitch. Anyway, I only think like this because I worry that it could happen to me. I could be that one that everyone's staring at, it would only take a few cakes and bang, there I am, not a point of admiration but merely one of reference and disgust. It's difficult for fat people to be tragic as thin ones are.

I know another girl that's fat and has the silliest voice. That only serves to exacerbate the situation.

Fieldmice, headlice, spiders in the kitchen.

Today's consumption:

a sausage batch (400)
pic and mix (100g, liquorice allsorts and brazil nuts) (400)
an apple (30)
two tangerines (30)
tortellini and pesto (400)
hot chocolate (40)

1300. And I walked, a little, and went to rehearsals. They started off very badly; my part is smaller than I believed, and the narcissist in me dislikes that. But today I felt that my cast isn't as stuck up as I thought they were. I hate that I am the tallest and fattest girl, and the fattest generally. I suppose this could change by May; not height, but size. I despise warm up routines that involve touching others or running about because I think this accentuates my flab. I just measured myself; in inches, 36-29-39. Height still five feet eight. Bust, waist, hips. My waist was far smaller. And it is depressing that my bust is far smaller than my hips, I wish I could change this measurement.

What else? I was able to contribute to a literary discussion even though I hadn't read the literature, so that was another day of feeling clever for me. Till my rehearsals, when I felt fat and it obliterated the clever feeling. I dislike the idea that other people can see this mass flabbing around, and judge me on it. Then, the other good thing was that my cast is pleasant. What else? I'm not as fat as I could be; but nor am I as thin as I could be. I kept within my calorie quota.

I was going to type up something I wrote, but it is too embarrassingly bad, even for this page. Instead. I shall write a descriptive something, because otherwise the number of posts will affect my triskaidekaphobia.

Solution to world Hunger, fig. one.

Eating's been really bad these past few days. I seem to be hellbent on consuming everything in sight, like the fatty I am. Today's count is 1750. Written elsewhere.

Today in a shop, purchasing food, an acquaintance (well, probably a friend but I'm none so keen on her. She can be OK) asked us how many calories we thought were in a packet of pecan nuts covered in chocolate. She said 700. She's the only girl in my group of friends that obsessively counts calories (well, except for me, but I clam up when they're discussed for reasons I shall expound later). Anyway, the upshot of this was that I suggested, profit notwithstanding, that we should ship 90 percent of chocolate etc. to Africa, or malnutrition hotspots to combat obesity. Or even just put pictures of starving kids next to our rationed chocolate supplies. I know that if people are suffering malnutrition there has to be a gradual refeeding process, but I really don't see why, once that's been accomplished, we can't give away a bit of chocolate and other nutrient rich foods. How much do I need calorific content as opposed to those on the brink of starvation? I know profit would be a problem; I thought this could be solved by all the money yummy mummies (isn't that a disgusting epithet?) and vain yuppie sloanes spend on going to the gym, or a personal trainer, being given to chocolate companies to remove the temptation; they'd get slimmer, because of less chocolate being around. Say you live in Hemel Hempstead, for a fixed fee you can get the chocolate taken out of your local newsagent and shipped off to Africa; you have to walk further to get the goods. Better still, confiscate cars as well and let everyone bike or take public transport. I know this is hard on those who posess a modicum of willpower, but they don't particularly need chocolate either.

Earlier I said I don't involve myself in calorific discussions. I don't want to be seen as a boring girl that can only discuss calories, first and foremost; I fear if I were to admit my quirk, then the floodgates would open and I'd never shut my mouth. Another reason is my opinion of this particular acquaintance; she obviously used to be very thin. She's very involved in everything, theatre, magazine editing, god knows what else, but I get the impression that she doesn't enjoy herself doing it; she does it more so that she can say she's involved. If I think of how I feel when I act; it just takes away my desire to do anything else, when I'm absorbed in it- I don't want to eat, I get the glim in my eyes, it's like a flash of freedom, like doing a cartwheel. I think she doesn't get that from what she does.

She calorie counts and strives, yet she's about a size 14 (UK) I'd say, and she's around 5 feet four tall. In fairness, she has got a large chest, which carries less stigma. I think, every time she discusses calories, that if she cares so very much she would surely be thinner? I don't talk about my obsession because I don't feel that people will take me seriously- they'd think, well maybe you think about it but you're really quite fat; only thin girls think about calories. You, therefore, must think you are thin and want us all to tell you you are. I don't want people to think I think I'm something I'm not. This makes very little sense. There's also the other aspect of public self-hate and emotional whining, which I despise.

Scale to skin is all too few, to keep me from you.

Mange tout:

tortellini (325)
1/4 an eccles cake (75)

an apple (40)
a brownie (400)

scotch broth (8o)
1.5 slices of white bread (84 cals a slice) (120)

an eccles cake (300)

options hot chocolate (60)
2 biscuits (50)
dates

1410. And dates; which are about 100 calories. So 1500. And I thought I'd done so well today. Ha. Ah well, always tomorrow.

I felt fluey today and yesterday. I had the sensation you get, when you feel like your skin's got pins and needles but without the stab, almost as if it's not my own. It makes getting dressed or changing position feel strange. I had the start of a headache, and the fuzz feeling. Because I don't ever get ill, my reaction to these symptoms was hyperbolic; I first suspected a case of bird flu, shortly afterwards tending to a self diagnosis of meningitis, or a light case of pleurisy or bronchitis. As my symptoms have subsided, and were in fact none so bad, I decide that instead I simply had a slight infection. Today I've been coughing up phglem, which I find bizarrely cathartic considering my stance on vomiting. It's a relief to see the sodding microbes that plague you leave your body, after much effort and hacking away on your part, in a globular yellow stream. It's also good to feel your throat briefly cleared. Anyway, possibly because of the phlegm coughing, or maybe because I was offered two parts in my amateur theatre group (yes, it is amateur, and that was a brag that there will be more of later) I felt well enough to resume my usual skip to rehersals today. Albeit wheezing and bent double with the cough. I also reek of sweat; this could be because I haven't showered today, or because the disease is fleeing my corpus. Either way, I offend myself with my own reek. My hair is greasy, I haven't bothered with makeup; I am not attractive.

I need to do washing up before my housemates grow exasperated with my pile of pots, pans and plates. I usually keep on top of it, but I've been busy; too busy for general hygiene, it would appear.

I was offered a part in Fear and Misery in The Third Reich (Brecht) and The Seagull (Chekov). I chose Polina in the Chekov. I only pertain to a hazy idea of what such a role entails; it was more a process of elimination. The Brecht play would have offered a bigger role, I think, but it seems very conscious theatre; the sort of theatre that people become involved in to get their message across, break taboos, yeah, 'cos there's all this shit goin' on in the world we can change via interpretative dance.... whilst I love to move, I haven't got much faith in the directors. Chekov's will be amazing, I know. And that will reflect well on me; all actions are ultimately narcissistic. One girl that is in the Vagina Monologues didn't get a part, though she got lots of recalls; I was surprised. She's not like posersloane; she's pretty, slim, small, an amazing actress, but most importantly, very easy to get on with, interesting and very well known within the theatre. I'd have thought people would have seen her recall and taken her straight away. But it seems she was too good at too many parts. I don't know why she didn't get a part; it does seem strange that she wouldn't.

Ok. Tomorrow I will have my usual calorific breakfast, then for lunch something light in calories such as a sandwich, then my scotch broth for dinner. I will buy some fruit and veg. If I follow this, it leaves me a fair few calories to play around with. I know this is a ridiculous thing to rule my life by.

Good day, shame I'm a heiffer.

Consumption today reached ludic levels, continuing the blast of binge that has cumulated from fronts arising between willpower and self esteem.

Here is what I wish I had ate today:

tortellini (goats cheese and pesto) 450

A chicken wrap -240

tortellini again for dinner- 450

tomatoes-20

an apple (40)

a tangerine (20)

That would have been 1200; quite respectable.

But I also ate:

two brazil nuts coated in chocolate, half a white chocolate mouse and a fudge cube (pic n mix) (100)

two chocolate biscuits-160

dates (200)

three cocktails and a shot of tequila. The cocktails were martini-cosmopolitan types, not the fatty ones. Not that it makes much difference.

a slice of bread and low fat cream cheese. (100)

which adds a stupendous 560 calories, leaving out alcohol. I could say, I walked, I burned off some of it, I'm on my period and bound to eat more, but then I look at this list and think, no wonder I am fatty fat fat fat.

I did walk.

Let me explain the correlation between self esteem and willpower. Willpower arises from the knowledge that one can; for example, this occurs in academia; in other circles, where I was fairly authoritative, I can speak with wisdom and experience. Place me with high ranking intellectuals, and instead of feeling stimulated, I am intimidated by their vast swathes of knowledge as compared to my shallow puddle. Self esteem (knowing that I have fulfilled the ideal self of sticking to my allowance and maintaining my goals) is shattered when I look in the mirror and see my porcine reflection. Consequently, the goal is unreachable; I may as well eat what I will.

And I miss having someone; when I am lost in seas of adoration, it sustains me better than food can. It isn't even a butterflied stomach; it's just the idea of them. If I'm honest, the idea of being perfect for them. I don't think I've got much to offer; I could at least offer a half decent body. I suppose this could be applicable to general life. Also, that I don't want people to look at me and pity me. It's the pity; "God, look at the size of her", and the inevitable reflection on how I must be sad inside. I'm actually not; I am fairly happy, but, as with most people, I externalize happiness and internalize what is left.

I am worried about the amount of things I must memorise shortly. Vagina Monologue scripts and the like. I did have a good day today though; lots of laughter with my director in rehearsals, lots of laughing with friends after. I really like most of my cast, but not one specific girl; let's call her posersloane. Posersloane turned up to the first rehearsal with an air of malaise clad in a woolly hat AND sunglasses, in winter. SUNGLASSES IN WINTER. This is why I believe she is a complete penis. That, and she is too vocal concerning the directon of our play (our director is wonderful), and I always get a vibe from her that I'm not interesting enough to hold her noncholant attention; in short (and she is vertically challenged), she is up herself, dear readers. But there are some very interesting, amusing people as well; my favourites are two friends I've got already, they're very funny (we make up fake raps, which are terrible), my director (he is loud, and a man directing The Vagina Monologues), the producer's aide (quietly confident, clever, amusing jewish girl the same age as me), timid girl, small cockney girl, two girls I didn't know before but are very good actresses but not at all full of themselves, and the rest in general.