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.

My first run of the play.

Today was our first night of the play. It was hideous; not for everyone else, merely for me. It is horrible being talentless within a myriad of talent, and knowledge of this makes it worse.

My stage daughter was, inevitably, brilliant. She keeps saying how we could actually be related; I think she means that we could be mother and daughter, I the matronly elder and she the sprightly young thing. She is right; we are both pale. My features are a coarsened, thickened daguerrotype to her refined wrists and doll-like face. Of course, I am her elder. I detest this role, I know that anyone could play it better than I do. I just have to be more natural with it, and less nervous. I've got four more runs to make it right.

The worst thing? That everyone was brilliant, and this meant our director couldn't be honest with me about my shambling; he said he enjoyed watching me, but this is a face-saver as he couldn't say, "everyone was brilliant except you". I think she came tonight- I saw her in the audience, I think- and she hasn't spoken to me about it. If she'd loved it she would have texted. At the moment, I wish I was anyone apart from my fat old self. All the other girls onstage are beautiful, and petite. Even if I was to dye my hair blonde and wear lovely makeup, there is no way that I could be small or slim. I hate her seeing me act badly, and I hate this because I use her as a barometer. I hate the repercussion that this has on me, though it shouldn't.

Let's say I was the girl that plays my daughter. What then?

I would be academic and beautiful, and slim, and an amazing actress. I would be well liked and respected.

What have I got going for me that she hasn't? I'm down to earth, and sensible. Those are not characteristics I prize in myself. She doesn't need to be down to earth; her possibilities are spinning away off into the clouds, and she can go with them, whereas mine are securely tethered to boring topsoil. I can draw. She probably can as well. I'm flexible. So? I am proud and independent. She isn't exactly a doormat. I can't ever win.

I feel as if I want to cry with the hopelessness of competing against this. Then I remember that there are starving children with AIDS in Africa, so I should suck it up. I am so feeble.