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.

I see the sun in the trees, and I feel the psychedelic breeze.

Eating today:

porridge with dates and yoghurt-400
dates-20
two prawn crackers-10
two biscuits-60
a tex mex chicken wrap-400
a cookie (date and ginger)-200
a vegetable stir fry, comprising of broccoli,onion, tuna, light cream cheese and tomato puree.-150
date-20
sultanas-50
prawn crackers-20
2 biscuits-60
an options hot chocolate-40
spoonful of custard-10

1430. Not good. I walked today, not as much as I should have, but nontheless it was walking. I worry that prawn crackers have more calorific value than I accredit to them. I shall dictionary it.

After last nights entry I ate a brownie. Why do these mundane things create such panic in the pit of my porcine stomach? Really, if I look at what I eat, it's so much that it's a wonder I'm the size I am. I should be bigger.

I have got five recalls out of the six things I auditioned for the other day. Yes, it is only amateur theatre, and yes, I believe one of the recalls is because friends are directing it; but nontheless, four recalls isn't bad. I did really want to be in the thing I failed to be recalled for, but I can deal with it- two other things I'd love to be in have recalled me as well.

Recently, a friend of mine had a child. She was very young to be having one; I've known her for a long time. We're both twenty. I suppose this isn't so young nowadays, in the age of the teen mum. I've always supposed that if I got pregnant, I'd have it sucked out of me. That seems strange to think of now that a real child is alive and everyone is so happy about it; I don't think abortion was ever an option for her. I don't even think it would have been the right choice for her. Would it be for me? I'm not pregnant. But if I was to be, would I be that bad a mother? Would it ruin my life? I don't think it'll destroy hers; she's having time off work, they haven't got a house and they won't have holidays for a while but I think they'll turn out well. If anything, the child will give them impetus. Me? I'd finish here, I'd have to slave away to make enough to get by... with a baby. Incomprehensible.

The bad mother question is a big one for me; if I did get pregnant, my family would think it was best that it was gotten rid of. Because they're pro choice, and I have got to live my life. But the baby could become my life, and things would be hard but not impossible, am I that immature that I would be such a horrendous parent? I am selfish, petty, intolerant.. anyway. I am creating scenarios that will not occur.

Anyway, she's very happy with her baby (my parents tell me). I don't at all want a child now, of course, it would be far too much responsibility for me; but it has put my life into perspective. I worry about calories, school marks, social acceptance, roles in plays; my friend worries about a tiny person she maintains responsibility for. It shifts your whole view around; my Mum told me about it, then asked what I'd been doing with my week. Of course, she doesn't know about my dietary quirks, but telling her about auditions and messing around with stuff just seems so insignificant, comparatively. My friend is content, happy and I think she'll make a good Mum.

Isn't psychedelic the antithesis of phonological spelling?

Most children parent on the basis of avoiding pitfalls that their parents created. I can think of nothing that my parents have done that is wrong; I haven't got anything to avoid.