Contemplations on digestations

I'm getting everything food-wise under control and in no time at all I'll be back to how I should be, which is svelte.

I am fixated. I can't deny that I like having a large build because when I am thin, I do look shocking. Red hair and tall and wide and pale, and bony. A friend said that when I move I remind her of Jack Skellington, from a Nightmare Before Christmas. I'm OK with that. People say they can feel my bones now, though they don't expect to. I've always got a clavicle, always ribs in back and front. I'm not thin yet- I've got a stomach overhang and chunky thighs, but they'll go and then I'll be fine again.

It's strange that I prefer to romanticise the comfortable of build. Even if I do put on weight I don't look comfortable- I look muscular, like a Russian Shotputter gone to seed. I don't tend towards rotund, more to cube.

Looking

I would like to tell you that:

your stomach bore two children
And 'I have the weak and feeble body of a woman, but the heart and stomach of A King' is applicable. It says I am soft and vulnerable and strong enough to take on the world as well. It's complex and beautiful.

I would hope someone has already told you this, but I suppose not.

Or if they had that you'd listen and feel better. I wonder if you were a beauty at my age. I wonder if you hate or like the way you look. I like your looks.

Cycles.

I think I might actually have managed to stay under 1200 today. I made a list, knew I'd missed something- it was a smoothie, which was about 100, so it's OK.

I am listening to Like a Rose by Lucinda Williams, it makes me want to be near her. It's OK to feel good that's the way it should be.

She writes bad heartfelt poetry, but I like it nontheless. I like her. I drew posters today, one on the computer and two off it. It was only meant to be one but I got enthusiastic fast, and that meant more ideas than I could get down. Nothing looks as good as I imagined but I suppose that's OK. It's not really though.

It still looks ok but just not brilliant, I want the stuff to be brilliant. I suppose I want her to say I'm brilliant but she might not even see the stuff I've drawn.

Difficult.

Today I ate:

A biscuit-60
Houmous and pasta-200
chocolate-130
A piece of fish and about 10 chips-300
Butterbean and lentil with chips-400
A piece of bread-100

Plus alcohol and some smoothie. Tomorrow I will eat more fruit and vegetables. I will catch scurvy. No teeth and fat.
No vegetables, no wonder I'm gaining weight.

A few nights ago she said to me, when I came on my bike and got wet, that I could borrow trousers and then that maybe they were too small for me. She didn't mean it like that. But I thought, oh god, she is thinking of my fat thighs, my fat arse trying to squeeze into these trousers. She is thinking I am hideously obese, that when she was my age they would have fallen off her. She is thinking that I am lacksidaisical and I don't care about others because I am always eating. She is comparing me to the refugees she helps and I am an example of western gluttony gone awry.

She probably was not thinking any of these things. And the trousers did fit, and she didn't mean it in that way. She didn't mean, you are too large. She meant the trousers might be too small. But I couldn't help thinking all of those things, and I was so relieved when they did fit, and I didn't eat what she offered me for tea.

A rhapsody

I know you're not pretty and yet you're beautiful to me. Lovely just lovely just.
I felt bad when a friend asked, "Is she good looking" and I had to reply, "no". To me you are beautiful, but I know that to her you wouldn't be you see. I can't stand the inferences, that's what it is, I can't stand someone else thinking you're somehow substandard when you're brilliant in every dimension. I want to protect your image. But you are not beautiful, not like a film star, and that shouldn't matter. It shouldn't count as a mark against you. It doesn't to me, but then, I think you are anyway.

But it might to the rest of the world.

Today

Was better. I went out, was angry because agencies need so much faff (you can't just give them a CV, no, they want you to go in with one, come back later, go back again and again... twats). But then I handed a CV into a bar where there might be work, which made me a bit happier, and it was a good bar, and had dinner in Ikea, which always makes me happy, and went to her house, the woman that thought I was silly. I will call it The House. She gave me some tea and I met a man that had been in prison. She was helping him, she's good to people, so steadfast and reassuring in a non-patronising way. She knows such a lot about how to help people in a way that doesn't let them take the mickey, so that she can help everyone. She knows so much about important things that really help people, like how to get off bail, and she's doing something about it that matters. She's such a useful person, in the best way.

I told her about my job worries and she just laughed, which put it all in perspective for me. I like her a lot, I want to be her friend. If I'm honest more, even though there's a massive age gap. I told her about wearing a sari and the spiritualist church and she's just lovely. Just listens really. I felt like I talked too long really, I should have shut up, I am becoming my grandmother.

I got home and it was all about jobs again- my brother was teasing me, my parents wanted to discuss nothing more than careers, and it's so very tense, I just don't want to talk to them about it, I want to deal with it alone. I'm getting angry with silly things and it's not right and I don't want to be that kind of person.

But I do like her. Her name's lovely, but I don't want to write it here. She's beautiful when she laughs. I thought she was missing two teeth, but she's just got small teeth, small and very straight. I feel like I want to cling onto her and say how much I like her and how much she's helping me, but that would be so silly.

I am silly.

It's better feeling silly than angry though.

I want to shout and scream and cry to rupture the feeling in my throat that there's something I just can't swallow, which is that life didn't turn out how I planned it to. I didn't turn out how I wanted to, or how I want to be now. I want to be quick and sharp and the girl noone messes with, and instead I am just a mess, distressed. I want my space back, I want it so badly. I want to kick something and flagrate all the rules and say I don't care, I just don't care.

I want to be with someone that wants to hold me tight and will tell me I'm not silly, I'm just human. Or I'm both, maybe.

I want to be someone except me.

A girl I know got into RADA. I feel sick to the core. I feel desperate.