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.
Friday, 27 February 2009
Thursday, 26 February 2009
It's bizarre that a day can make so much difference. I still feel like I'm doing it wrong, but not so much... she was better behaved today, I even got to joke with her. Hmmm.
I ate:
an apple-40
a tuna sandwich-300
340
some cake-300
muesli and yoghurt-300
1/2 a piece of bread-100
stew-300
1000
2 cubes of chocolate-100
chocolate mini eggs (6)=60
some figs-50
200
so 1540, all in all. I need to do more exercise.
I have been looking at people achieving lots and feeling I'm not achieving at all.
I want to achieve.
Bollocks.
This is depressing.
Alright, the actress girl is only in something small, and it's only because she's pretty, and everyone loses their looks, and she didn't get there on talent alone.
I feel horrible doing this, because she is nice and talented. But she also had parents that did stuff for her.
Publishing friend is just good at being herself, and found her niche straight away. If they were me, would they be freaking out? Probably.
Self esteem is not at its highest.
More exercise, less eating. I could have done it today, except I was tired and I needed to tidy up. Urgh, that's not true. Noone needs to tidy. It's just something people say to excuse themselves.
I could do with a cigarette, or a sleep, or both.
I had a fun time with my sister, she's developing a brilliant little personality lately and it's wonderful to watch.
Think of you, think of your soft enveloping arms, your pragmatics, your sense and your loveliness. Think of that and abolish the rest. Think that I am worth something to someone; though maybe it's the wrong someone. Sometimes I can sense people do like me, but I rarely like them in return and that inequality makes me almost like them less, for liking someone like me; they must be falliable, if they've fallen? That makes no sense. How would I feel if she liked me? I'd be so happy. I'd not think she was falliable. I'd think it was miraculous.
I need new books, new clothes (especially shoes) and novelty. And to act.
I ate:
an apple-40
a tuna sandwich-300
340
some cake-300
muesli and yoghurt-300
1/2 a piece of bread-100
stew-300
1000
2 cubes of chocolate-100
chocolate mini eggs (6)=60
some figs-50
200
so 1540, all in all. I need to do more exercise.
I have been looking at people achieving lots and feeling I'm not achieving at all.
I want to achieve.
Bollocks.
This is depressing.
Alright, the actress girl is only in something small, and it's only because she's pretty, and everyone loses their looks, and she didn't get there on talent alone.
I feel horrible doing this, because she is nice and talented. But she also had parents that did stuff for her.
Publishing friend is just good at being herself, and found her niche straight away. If they were me, would they be freaking out? Probably.
Self esteem is not at its highest.
More exercise, less eating. I could have done it today, except I was tired and I needed to tidy up. Urgh, that's not true. Noone needs to tidy. It's just something people say to excuse themselves.
I could do with a cigarette, or a sleep, or both.
I had a fun time with my sister, she's developing a brilliant little personality lately and it's wonderful to watch.
Think of you, think of your soft enveloping arms, your pragmatics, your sense and your loveliness. Think of that and abolish the rest. Think that I am worth something to someone; though maybe it's the wrong someone. Sometimes I can sense people do like me, but I rarely like them in return and that inequality makes me almost like them less, for liking someone like me; they must be falliable, if they've fallen? That makes no sense. How would I feel if she liked me? I'd be so happy. I'd not think she was falliable. I'd think it was miraculous.
I need new books, new clothes (especially shoes) and novelty. And to act.
Wednesday, 25 February 2009
You were lovely tonight.
Lovely every night, together or apart. When I was freaking, you gave me some solace. You gave me advice that wasn't advice at all- sought and given easily, with no feelings of remorse. Or recrimation, which is what I sometimes get.
You're kind and firm, and polite.
Oh darling.
It's hard at that age, anything that makes you different. You said that. You had a hard time, harder than I realised, though maybe you didn't make it easier on yourself, but noone's really got control over who they are at that age. I mean, you're so defensive. But you've got reason, darling. You're easily hurt, and you have been, and you need your walls and battlements. Just let me in, because I care.
You can't walk round in your perfectly decent pyjamas. Long trousers, big t-shirts. That must make such an impact on you, not feeling good about your body already and then someone says, don't, your form makes me feel uncomfortable.
You don't make me feel uncomfortable darling. There's a feeling, like an itch that's been scratched in my stomach, that makes me want you so much. From the inside out.
I wanted to say, screw him, you are lovely beyond anything. You look beautiful all the time, and maybe he doesn't like to be reminded of it. Maybe he feels about you as I do... because noone can really be made that uncomfortable, just by the presence of a woman in pyjamas. I'd like to spend time with you, lounging around in our night time clothes, cottony soft and crumpled into each other.
I wonder, if I told you that you were beautiful, if you'd like to hear it or not at all? You're not one of those that seeks approval, but then you do feel like you want to seek it; weight loss, though you'd say it's for you, is it? It's a little bit because of other people. It always is dear. I want to tell you, over and over and over. But you might feel like I do. I don't like hearing it that much, when I'm not sure what it means. I like hearing it when I know it means, 'you are the most beautiful thing to me, not to everyone else', but if it just means, 'you're beautiful', whisper-shouted over a dripping bar table and stumbling shoved into the ears, it means nothing. I mean the first kind, dear, and what I'm really saying is, 'you're the best person, and it's evident in your face and form'. I want you. Your pragmatic sense, your defensive nature, your beautiful shy form, I don't care whether you drive me to distraction with pedantry, because it's you.
I wonder sometimes if you do love. I hope you do, even if I know it's not me you want. I want you to have that and to be that for someone else, because if I feel this then others will too, and I'd like you to know if it wasn't so deeply embarrassing. I'd like you to know you inspire this huge feeling in someone. That someone thinks this of you.
We'd not celebrate valentines day, and go night walking, and cook for ages, and make tea, and sit in pyjamas for hours on end.
You're kind and firm, and polite.
Oh darling.
It's hard at that age, anything that makes you different. You said that. You had a hard time, harder than I realised, though maybe you didn't make it easier on yourself, but noone's really got control over who they are at that age. I mean, you're so defensive. But you've got reason, darling. You're easily hurt, and you have been, and you need your walls and battlements. Just let me in, because I care.
You can't walk round in your perfectly decent pyjamas. Long trousers, big t-shirts. That must make such an impact on you, not feeling good about your body already and then someone says, don't, your form makes me feel uncomfortable.
You don't make me feel uncomfortable darling. There's a feeling, like an itch that's been scratched in my stomach, that makes me want you so much. From the inside out.
I wanted to say, screw him, you are lovely beyond anything. You look beautiful all the time, and maybe he doesn't like to be reminded of it. Maybe he feels about you as I do... because noone can really be made that uncomfortable, just by the presence of a woman in pyjamas. I'd like to spend time with you, lounging around in our night time clothes, cottony soft and crumpled into each other.
I wonder, if I told you that you were beautiful, if you'd like to hear it or not at all? You're not one of those that seeks approval, but then you do feel like you want to seek it; weight loss, though you'd say it's for you, is it? It's a little bit because of other people. It always is dear. I want to tell you, over and over and over. But you might feel like I do. I don't like hearing it that much, when I'm not sure what it means. I like hearing it when I know it means, 'you are the most beautiful thing to me, not to everyone else', but if it just means, 'you're beautiful', whisper-shouted over a dripping bar table and stumbling shoved into the ears, it means nothing. I mean the first kind, dear, and what I'm really saying is, 'you're the best person, and it's evident in your face and form'. I want you. Your pragmatic sense, your defensive nature, your beautiful shy form, I don't care whether you drive me to distraction with pedantry, because it's you.
I wonder sometimes if you do love. I hope you do, even if I know it's not me you want. I want you to have that and to be that for someone else, because if I feel this then others will too, and I'd like you to know if it wasn't so deeply embarrassing. I'd like you to know you inspire this huge feeling in someone. That someone thinks this of you.
We'd not celebrate valentines day, and go night walking, and cook for ages, and make tea, and sit in pyjamas for hours on end.
Some days aren't yours at all.
an apple-40
a plain chocolate digestive biscuit-80
half a sandwich (cheese and onion)-150
270
some apricots-30
carrot cake-300
1 slice of bread-100
430
some chicken pie, vegetables and mashed potato-400
figs-50
450
smoothie- 100
ice cream-150
chocolate-150
1550. That could be more, I don't know. I always fear that I'm erring on the side of less calories, not more.
I am terrified I'm doing my job all wrong. I seem to be an irritant rather than an aide. I suppose if I believe I'm irritating, I will become irritating- like JM. So I'll just keep on the way I'm going. Everyone finds their own way. I just don't want to let anyone down, or to be like Dr A, who I had as a child, who really grated on me. I'm starting to feel sympathy. Who can I be like instead? I wonder how my brother would do my job. He probably wouldn't care, so I'm not going to do it that way. It's no use trying to think myself into his social mindset, because he's a bit of a wanker at the moment, and besides, I'm awful at that kind of social posturing.
I suppose I just have to believe that what I'm saying is right- and it is. I don't care how popular I am- I just care that they're learning, and that they'll do well. This is the right attitude- I want them to respect me, but not necessarily like me. I fear that at the moment, I've got neither. I'll learn.
I'm worried, so I don't feel like being particularly creative. Admiration matters to me, I realise. I want people to respect me, but I suppose respect doesn't just come. I worry that I'm vaguely autistic. One girl today said she didn't want to have my job- and that's the worst thing anyone's said so far. My brother insulted my lack of independence, and that made me want to move out.
a plain chocolate digestive biscuit-80
half a sandwich (cheese and onion)-150
270
some apricots-30
carrot cake-300
1 slice of bread-100
430
some chicken pie, vegetables and mashed potato-400
figs-50
450
smoothie- 100
ice cream-150
chocolate-150
1550. That could be more, I don't know. I always fear that I'm erring on the side of less calories, not more.
I am terrified I'm doing my job all wrong. I seem to be an irritant rather than an aide. I suppose if I believe I'm irritating, I will become irritating- like JM. So I'll just keep on the way I'm going. Everyone finds their own way. I just don't want to let anyone down, or to be like Dr A, who I had as a child, who really grated on me. I'm starting to feel sympathy. Who can I be like instead? I wonder how my brother would do my job. He probably wouldn't care, so I'm not going to do it that way. It's no use trying to think myself into his social mindset, because he's a bit of a wanker at the moment, and besides, I'm awful at that kind of social posturing.
I suppose I just have to believe that what I'm saying is right- and it is. I don't care how popular I am- I just care that they're learning, and that they'll do well. This is the right attitude- I want them to respect me, but not necessarily like me. I fear that at the moment, I've got neither. I'll learn.
I'm worried, so I don't feel like being particularly creative. Admiration matters to me, I realise. I want people to respect me, but I suppose respect doesn't just come. I worry that I'm vaguely autistic. One girl today said she didn't want to have my job- and that's the worst thing anyone's said so far. My brother insulted my lack of independence, and that made me want to move out.
Sunday, 22 February 2009
I feel like doing something.
The options are:
Sort through my clothes.
Go on a walk.
Sit here and doss about.
I have been on a walk today.
I ate:
A mars bar ice cream-222
Some chocolate cake-100
Some lentil curry and rice-200
A digestive biscuit-100
622
A piece of carrot cake-300
Some Broccoli, 2 roast potatoes, some chicken and roast carrots and parsnip-350
650
That's 1272. No wonder I feel crap, I've only eaten three portions of vegetables, tops. I'll try to eat some fruit later.
Last night I stayed at Chatelaine's. Something happened in the night- one of the men had something stolen, and I wasn't called. I felt a bit like a young ineffectual child that hadn't been woken or trusted to do anything. Let her sleep, no sense waking her. I want to be the person awake, or the person to wake. I also hated the man I was responsible with- he was jocular and had a really patronising manner. Chatelaine thinks he's nice- and I suppose he is- but I don't know if he would be if it came down to it. He's one of those people that's trying to be nice. I wasn't even asleep- I would have been fine to do it! Ugh. I hate being the one that's not relied on. Is there something ineffective about me? Something defective, that makes people think I'll foul up or collapse under strain or make things worse or blow it all up.
I feel like there is.
I feel like I don't say or do or think the right sort of things. The right thing.
Noone does or says the right thing all the time; but they feel they do, and my problem is that I feel I'm always being wrong. I'm getting morose. Snap out of it.
Would you think I was doing it all wrong? Would you? If I told you. Probably. I'd like you to say yes or no and tell me something true. We can live like Jack and Sally if we want.
Am I one of your beautiful people? You're one of mine, evidently.
I walked with Chatelaine and three others today. She's lovely, but I fear I might be cloying to her- she might not want me, she might think I'm too much, altogether too much around and too much in your face and too much know-it-all boring ignorance.
All of those things.
And a princess to boot, and fluffy.
I can't be all of these things. I'd rather she thought I was just plain bolshie.
What everyone really wants from a relationship (I heard) is to see themselves reflected back in a way that coincides with the way they think of themselves. Narcissism, essentially. It's not so much the person doing the loving, it's the way that they love. And if I think about her now, what I really want her to say is, you're fine, don't worry, I like you. There's no guarantee though. If I can have that from someone that organises and does, who I admire, then it would all be alright. I don't know.
The options are:
Sort through my clothes.
Go on a walk.
Sit here and doss about.
I have been on a walk today.
I ate:
A mars bar ice cream-222
Some chocolate cake-100
Some lentil curry and rice-200
A digestive biscuit-100
622
A piece of carrot cake-300
Some Broccoli, 2 roast potatoes, some chicken and roast carrots and parsnip-350
650
That's 1272. No wonder I feel crap, I've only eaten three portions of vegetables, tops. I'll try to eat some fruit later.
Last night I stayed at Chatelaine's. Something happened in the night- one of the men had something stolen, and I wasn't called. I felt a bit like a young ineffectual child that hadn't been woken or trusted to do anything. Let her sleep, no sense waking her. I want to be the person awake, or the person to wake. I also hated the man I was responsible with- he was jocular and had a really patronising manner. Chatelaine thinks he's nice- and I suppose he is- but I don't know if he would be if it came down to it. He's one of those people that's trying to be nice. I wasn't even asleep- I would have been fine to do it! Ugh. I hate being the one that's not relied on. Is there something ineffective about me? Something defective, that makes people think I'll foul up or collapse under strain or make things worse or blow it all up.
I feel like there is.
I feel like I don't say or do or think the right sort of things. The right thing.
Noone does or says the right thing all the time; but they feel they do, and my problem is that I feel I'm always being wrong. I'm getting morose. Snap out of it.
Would you think I was doing it all wrong? Would you? If I told you. Probably. I'd like you to say yes or no and tell me something true. We can live like Jack and Sally if we want.
Am I one of your beautiful people? You're one of mine, evidently.
I walked with Chatelaine and three others today. She's lovely, but I fear I might be cloying to her- she might not want me, she might think I'm too much, altogether too much around and too much in your face and too much know-it-all boring ignorance.
All of those things.
And a princess to boot, and fluffy.
I can't be all of these things. I'd rather she thought I was just plain bolshie.
What everyone really wants from a relationship (I heard) is to see themselves reflected back in a way that coincides with the way they think of themselves. Narcissism, essentially. It's not so much the person doing the loving, it's the way that they love. And if I think about her now, what I really want her to say is, you're fine, don't worry, I like you. There's no guarantee though. If I can have that from someone that organises and does, who I admire, then it would all be alright. I don't know.
Friday, 20 February 2009
Me.
Here are a list of facts about me that I'd never publish anywhere else.
1. I won't go back to education, unless it's to formulate a career plan- acting, journalism, being a barrister or even a teacher are all slight but potential possibilities.
2. I fall for people easily, but noone knows this, and I fall on bizarre criteria.
3. I'm very rarely successful in love because I worry that the other person isn't enjoying their time with me as much as I am.
4. I am happier alone than with people I feel middling about. This applies to friends and loved ones.
5. I am obsessed with eighties synth pop.
6. And correct grammar and spelling (though I use the word 'and' too much at the beginning of sentences). I will google something if I'm not completely sure of the spelling. I just googled obsessed.
7. I adore going food shopping with people, friends mainly, and observing what other people buy, despite or maybe because of my relationship with food.
8. I hate going clothes shopping with people. I feel like I have to concentrate on them as well as me, and it's too stressful to do both at the same time. I also get bored quickly.
9. I always flick to the life and style section of the papers, though I would far rather my persuasion was for the political.
10. I am petrified of sinking into obsolescence instead of reaching for ambition.
11. I would rather be ugly than irritating and pretty. I think I might rather be ugly and memorable than pretty and fading into obscurity.
12. My favourite game to play is the cube game.
13. I am triskaidekaphobic, though I don't consider myself particularly superstitious. I won't put down a book on any number that's a multiple of thirteen, or that ends in three (this could be thirteen plus or minus any number of tens). I am therefore well versed in the thirteen times table. The numbers thirty nine and one hundred and sixty nine are especially avoided, and pages that are ten times any multiple of thirteen (a hundred and thirty, two hundred and sixty) must be read straight through to 140 and 270, respectively, as the whole ten-cycle is also unlucky, being preposed by digits that are multiples of thirteen.
14. I also say hello to magpies. Three times.
15. I am not always the best at what I want to be the best at.
16. If I am pushed towards something I am unlikely to do it. I was pushed towards maths as a child, and I'm only just now discovering enjoyment of it, a decade and a half later.
17. I frequently feel guilty for being the eldest child, as my parents had the most time to spend on my education, and wonder if I'd have flourished if I'd been second or third in line. Though my siblings did get help, I was the undivided focus. I feel that maybe I'm not that bright under it all- it was all just conditioning. If you look at it that way, isn't everyone's childhood? Though my siblings are musical without any particular driving force, so I suppose I feel they'd have been even brighter if they'd have had the help I did.
18. Port is one of my favourite drinks, though I despise wine.
19. I always mean to get a facial.
20. I have always used the same makeup, since I first started and have pared back my kit if anything. I wonder what will happen when I turn fifty and my face needs more than moisturiser, concealer, mascara and lipstick to look its best.
21. I can appreciate that film stars are beautiful and want to look like them, but I don't want to touch them at all like I want to touch the people I detail here. They're all somewhat anodyne or defensive.
22. On the aspergers scale, I'm between 'normal' and 'aspergers'. I'm proud of this. I'd like to be more of a perfectionist, though I'm not at all. I thought everyone was about something; I'm not, it appears. I try to cultivate this in myself.
23. I smoke menthol consulates, around 4 a week. I am proud of this rate; enough to let me enjoy them, little enough for me to feel that the risk of cancer is abated (though the heart attacks tend to catch us out). I make an occasion out of each one; I find a place, sit and fume away.
24. I hate cutting meat. The word's picorism. I eat meat, but only in small chunks or forms where it's not apparent that it's a dead corpse. I was a vegetarian from the age of about seven to thirteen, and I've always been aware of the carcass conundrum. I can't think about the flesh too much when I'm eating it.
25. I prefer soy milk to normal, it doesn't give you the coated feeling on the back of your throat.
1. I won't go back to education, unless it's to formulate a career plan- acting, journalism, being a barrister or even a teacher are all slight but potential possibilities.
2. I fall for people easily, but noone knows this, and I fall on bizarre criteria.
3. I'm very rarely successful in love because I worry that the other person isn't enjoying their time with me as much as I am.
4. I am happier alone than with people I feel middling about. This applies to friends and loved ones.
5. I am obsessed with eighties synth pop.
6. And correct grammar and spelling (though I use the word 'and' too much at the beginning of sentences). I will google something if I'm not completely sure of the spelling. I just googled obsessed.
7. I adore going food shopping with people, friends mainly, and observing what other people buy, despite or maybe because of my relationship with food.
8. I hate going clothes shopping with people. I feel like I have to concentrate on them as well as me, and it's too stressful to do both at the same time. I also get bored quickly.
9. I always flick to the life and style section of the papers, though I would far rather my persuasion was for the political.
10. I am petrified of sinking into obsolescence instead of reaching for ambition.
11. I would rather be ugly than irritating and pretty. I think I might rather be ugly and memorable than pretty and fading into obscurity.
12. My favourite game to play is the cube game.
13. I am triskaidekaphobic, though I don't consider myself particularly superstitious. I won't put down a book on any number that's a multiple of thirteen, or that ends in three (this could be thirteen plus or minus any number of tens). I am therefore well versed in the thirteen times table. The numbers thirty nine and one hundred and sixty nine are especially avoided, and pages that are ten times any multiple of thirteen (a hundred and thirty, two hundred and sixty) must be read straight through to 140 and 270, respectively, as the whole ten-cycle is also unlucky, being preposed by digits that are multiples of thirteen.
14. I also say hello to magpies. Three times.
15. I am not always the best at what I want to be the best at.
16. If I am pushed towards something I am unlikely to do it. I was pushed towards maths as a child, and I'm only just now discovering enjoyment of it, a decade and a half later.
17. I frequently feel guilty for being the eldest child, as my parents had the most time to spend on my education, and wonder if I'd have flourished if I'd been second or third in line. Though my siblings did get help, I was the undivided focus. I feel that maybe I'm not that bright under it all- it was all just conditioning. If you look at it that way, isn't everyone's childhood? Though my siblings are musical without any particular driving force, so I suppose I feel they'd have been even brighter if they'd have had the help I did.
18. Port is one of my favourite drinks, though I despise wine.
19. I always mean to get a facial.
20. I have always used the same makeup, since I first started and have pared back my kit if anything. I wonder what will happen when I turn fifty and my face needs more than moisturiser, concealer, mascara and lipstick to look its best.
21. I can appreciate that film stars are beautiful and want to look like them, but I don't want to touch them at all like I want to touch the people I detail here. They're all somewhat anodyne or defensive.
22. On the aspergers scale, I'm between 'normal' and 'aspergers'. I'm proud of this. I'd like to be more of a perfectionist, though I'm not at all. I thought everyone was about something; I'm not, it appears. I try to cultivate this in myself.
23. I smoke menthol consulates, around 4 a week. I am proud of this rate; enough to let me enjoy them, little enough for me to feel that the risk of cancer is abated (though the heart attacks tend to catch us out). I make an occasion out of each one; I find a place, sit and fume away.
24. I hate cutting meat. The word's picorism. I eat meat, but only in small chunks or forms where it's not apparent that it's a dead corpse. I was a vegetarian from the age of about seven to thirteen, and I've always been aware of the carcass conundrum. I can't think about the flesh too much when I'm eating it.
25. I prefer soy milk to normal, it doesn't give you the coated feeling on the back of your throat.
Thursday, 19 February 2009
Aesthetic meanderings.
She sits in splendour on the city's edge
Face night smeared and hair like hedge
Then through the curtain there's a call
Put out that fag, I'm just appalled.
Luminescent nut brown maid
On Scottish Lowland central stage
Enters left and wraps around
The dirty urchin makes no sound.
Ugh, poetry's hopeless nowadays.
It's not what I really want to say, the rest of the stuff is, but then that never comes out quite right either. Should I just make a list? We'd be bad together because it would take so much to stop being secret, because you hate drugs and I like them, because you're the kind of person that can't stand discussion when she's made up her mind, because it would cause fuss in the one area I need to be clear and simple, because you don't feel this way about me at all and you'll never know, so why am I thinking like this?
Though I'd be kind to you, and you surprise me all the time by opening up and expanding yourself. You're secret and shy too. Maybe we'd have secrets together. I don't mind waiting for you to feel comfortable. We have similar opinions on things. We laugh. You're the most feasible obsession I've had, and the most longstanding probably... on-off for quite a while now, always unrequited. I will settle for friends, at the moment. Friends is a good place. I wouldn't ever want you to feel bored, or wishing you were somewhere else with someone else. I'll never proposition you for that reason, because I think you do like women, like me, but unlike me completely; you wouldn't want me at all. I'm too much everything. Then, you don't suspect me of wanting you- you don't think I'd like to be round you at all. Or at least, not in that way. You're so disillusioned. Too much wanting you, and you'd never believe the good things, only the bad, and all I want to tell you is the good truth about yourself. Everyone else only tells you bad things; not everyone. Family. I wouldn't want you to talk about that if you didn't want to. I know when to leave well alone.
I'd like to play you songs and say, this is what I think of you, and make you believe that that is my truth. What I believe to be the truth.
Sometimes, an optimistic little pirhana thought punctures the surface of common sense and whispers, 'what if she's doing the same thing? Totting up her daily calories in secret and wishing for you?'
I know she does the former. Another on the list of wonders. You calorie count quietly. There are women (I work with them) who shout about it. Weight classes and other things; there's one in particular, always remarking on how much weight she's lost. I would wait for people to point it out rather than forcing them to notice, it's my pet peeve. Especially as I practise food quibbling a fair bit, but have the decency to keep it quiet. I'd love to be a person who thought calories were boring, who knows that weight is trivial and who has bigger and better concerns than something so fluffy; and I try to effect that image. I do it fairly well, I think. Not many twig. I don't describe food as naughty, I don't engage in calorie chat, I don't pour scorn or praise on my own body. I just let it out here.
You don't talk about it. You don't eat in public (so you must think people are watching and judging. I did too, but then I realised people watch and judge more if you're not eating, whether you're fat or thin. If you're fat it's disdain, that fatty's not eating, poor them, dieting, or if you're thin it's well, she must be anorexic. I'd rather people thought I eat normally). The only inkling I caught was when you said, 'I'll eat that pizza, I know what's in it'. And I knew you'd been going to Weight club. That's a scam darling. If you want to lose weight, you can walk with me if you want and I'll tell you about what I do and not expect you to follow a word of it, because it's stupid, but I just want you to know there's another way, an infinite variety of ways. Please don't pay to stand and be weighed with a load of people with issues and be told what you're going to do. Make up your own mind- you're bright enough, and you hate people deciding for you.
If I could say anything about it to you, I'd say, just be happy with yourself. You're beautiful to me whether you gain weight or lose it, whether you're fat or thin. I want you to be happy as you are- and I want you to feel like you can be happy, whatever size you are. I mean, if you got so thin you started fainting all over the place, or so fat you couldn't walk, I'd be concerned, and it would be unattractive because I'd be more of a carer than a partner, but I'd know it wouldn't be my perogative to change you. Then again, I know from personal experience that someone telling me to be happy and that I was beautiful, even if it was the person I adored most, wouldn't be enough to stop me totting up the numbers every day, or thinking blow it if I've eaten over. It's what I think that's driving me. I still don't care how people think I look- though I do. I've got a fear of being classed as fat- because I equate fat and vulnerable, fat and teased- yet I don't equate it with you, I didn't know you were trying to lose weight till you said about the pizza. I hate pity the most, and I refuse to be pitied. So I want to be thin. I care that people perceive me as thin, but I don't care if I look ugly, or mean, or nasty. I know I'm not any of those things inside. Maybe I am, but I don't feel it. It's easy for people to make me feel teased or vulnerable.
Mum said a strange thing the other day; that the adolescents have probably got more respect for me because I'm pretty. I responded that I'm not really- and Dad chipped in that I probably was in comparison to the teaching staff. I don't really think I am- I'm younger, but a lot of the staff are really good looking. The good looking ones aren't necessarily best respected though. There's a woman who takes care of herself, who is fairly good looking and has got a hold on them really well, and another woman with a ridiculous surname who wears no makeup. She's not ugly, nowhere near, she's kind of middling- she could be pretty with effort, she's likely beautiful to her lover. She's certainly attractive. She was wearing this silly bow headband the first time I met her, trousers that were too tight- and the kids all had massive respect for her. She stormed round the room getting excited and making them think, and they were close to rapturous. And they liked her. She's the kind of person I want to be more like. Looks don't matter a jot in this game, it's on personality alone, and it's good to know that, if scary because I'm not sure my personality measures up, though I'd rather be judged on that than my face. It frustrates me that something so trivial should be considered a weapon- it's what makes me so hung up on the fat issue, and on food in general, the concept of others observing and judging and finding wanting (or excess). It's the thing that makes me put on makeup in the morning and think of my walks (which I really enjoy on their own merit) as little calorie burning excises, and it's the thing that makes all my food into numbers. It's good to be on a playing field that feels even, from where I'm standing. I suppose that this is what I would tell her, if I could tell her anything. Looks don't really count if you're amazing anyway, but they're a stick to beat you with if you're not brilliant. But, dear, you're an academic, you're bright and sparky and earnest and you stand straight for what you believe in, nothing else. Admirable. Noone really admires beautiful people on the sole merit of their beauty- everyone knows they're vacuous. The truly beautiful famed are the ones that have something behind their faces. I wouldn't swap my face, though I know it's not perfect and not half as beautiful as my sisters, because I like its quirks. I'd swap my body weight, but not its type, though it's large and mannish- but I like it, I like its practicality and movements. I'm getting closer to accepting, I think. I'd rather someone insulted me concerning the way my face is than called me a fluffy person. I don't care what you think of my face; I care about whether I'm effective or not. I'm proud of that. I'll get there with my body too one day. Then I'll be immune, and invulnerable.
I still think you're beautiful. Why do I want to say it if it's not important? I don't just mean corporeally, I mean everything. Beauty transcends. I mean, I don't describe people as beautiful often. I mean, you are my beautiful.
But if it's not important, couldn't I just as lovingly say, you are ugly? If you said that to me, in a loving tone, I would like it. I'd smile. I'd know you were complicit in what I think of the whole judging on looks world, I'd know you wouldn't care if I got old and grey and lost teeth and gained weight, I'd know...
Yet, I think you've heard ugly enough, in your short lifetime. I want you to hear beautiful, and accept ugly as well. Ugly can be beautiful.
Face night smeared and hair like hedge
Then through the curtain there's a call
Put out that fag, I'm just appalled.
Luminescent nut brown maid
On Scottish Lowland central stage
Enters left and wraps around
The dirty urchin makes no sound.
Ugh, poetry's hopeless nowadays.
It's not what I really want to say, the rest of the stuff is, but then that never comes out quite right either. Should I just make a list? We'd be bad together because it would take so much to stop being secret, because you hate drugs and I like them, because you're the kind of person that can't stand discussion when she's made up her mind, because it would cause fuss in the one area I need to be clear and simple, because you don't feel this way about me at all and you'll never know, so why am I thinking like this?
Though I'd be kind to you, and you surprise me all the time by opening up and expanding yourself. You're secret and shy too. Maybe we'd have secrets together. I don't mind waiting for you to feel comfortable. We have similar opinions on things. We laugh. You're the most feasible obsession I've had, and the most longstanding probably... on-off for quite a while now, always unrequited. I will settle for friends, at the moment. Friends is a good place. I wouldn't ever want you to feel bored, or wishing you were somewhere else with someone else. I'll never proposition you for that reason, because I think you do like women, like me, but unlike me completely; you wouldn't want me at all. I'm too much everything. Then, you don't suspect me of wanting you- you don't think I'd like to be round you at all. Or at least, not in that way. You're so disillusioned. Too much wanting you, and you'd never believe the good things, only the bad, and all I want to tell you is the good truth about yourself. Everyone else only tells you bad things; not everyone. Family. I wouldn't want you to talk about that if you didn't want to. I know when to leave well alone.
I'd like to play you songs and say, this is what I think of you, and make you believe that that is my truth. What I believe to be the truth.
Sometimes, an optimistic little pirhana thought punctures the surface of common sense and whispers, 'what if she's doing the same thing? Totting up her daily calories in secret and wishing for you?'
I know she does the former. Another on the list of wonders. You calorie count quietly. There are women (I work with them) who shout about it. Weight classes and other things; there's one in particular, always remarking on how much weight she's lost. I would wait for people to point it out rather than forcing them to notice, it's my pet peeve. Especially as I practise food quibbling a fair bit, but have the decency to keep it quiet. I'd love to be a person who thought calories were boring, who knows that weight is trivial and who has bigger and better concerns than something so fluffy; and I try to effect that image. I do it fairly well, I think. Not many twig. I don't describe food as naughty, I don't engage in calorie chat, I don't pour scorn or praise on my own body. I just let it out here.
You don't talk about it. You don't eat in public (so you must think people are watching and judging. I did too, but then I realised people watch and judge more if you're not eating, whether you're fat or thin. If you're fat it's disdain, that fatty's not eating, poor them, dieting, or if you're thin it's well, she must be anorexic. I'd rather people thought I eat normally). The only inkling I caught was when you said, 'I'll eat that pizza, I know what's in it'. And I knew you'd been going to Weight club. That's a scam darling. If you want to lose weight, you can walk with me if you want and I'll tell you about what I do and not expect you to follow a word of it, because it's stupid, but I just want you to know there's another way, an infinite variety of ways. Please don't pay to stand and be weighed with a load of people with issues and be told what you're going to do. Make up your own mind- you're bright enough, and you hate people deciding for you.
If I could say anything about it to you, I'd say, just be happy with yourself. You're beautiful to me whether you gain weight or lose it, whether you're fat or thin. I want you to be happy as you are- and I want you to feel like you can be happy, whatever size you are. I mean, if you got so thin you started fainting all over the place, or so fat you couldn't walk, I'd be concerned, and it would be unattractive because I'd be more of a carer than a partner, but I'd know it wouldn't be my perogative to change you. Then again, I know from personal experience that someone telling me to be happy and that I was beautiful, even if it was the person I adored most, wouldn't be enough to stop me totting up the numbers every day, or thinking blow it if I've eaten over. It's what I think that's driving me. I still don't care how people think I look- though I do. I've got a fear of being classed as fat- because I equate fat and vulnerable, fat and teased- yet I don't equate it with you, I didn't know you were trying to lose weight till you said about the pizza. I hate pity the most, and I refuse to be pitied. So I want to be thin. I care that people perceive me as thin, but I don't care if I look ugly, or mean, or nasty. I know I'm not any of those things inside. Maybe I am, but I don't feel it. It's easy for people to make me feel teased or vulnerable.
Mum said a strange thing the other day; that the adolescents have probably got more respect for me because I'm pretty. I responded that I'm not really- and Dad chipped in that I probably was in comparison to the teaching staff. I don't really think I am- I'm younger, but a lot of the staff are really good looking. The good looking ones aren't necessarily best respected though. There's a woman who takes care of herself, who is fairly good looking and has got a hold on them really well, and another woman with a ridiculous surname who wears no makeup. She's not ugly, nowhere near, she's kind of middling- she could be pretty with effort, she's likely beautiful to her lover. She's certainly attractive. She was wearing this silly bow headband the first time I met her, trousers that were too tight- and the kids all had massive respect for her. She stormed round the room getting excited and making them think, and they were close to rapturous. And they liked her. She's the kind of person I want to be more like. Looks don't matter a jot in this game, it's on personality alone, and it's good to know that, if scary because I'm not sure my personality measures up, though I'd rather be judged on that than my face. It frustrates me that something so trivial should be considered a weapon- it's what makes me so hung up on the fat issue, and on food in general, the concept of others observing and judging and finding wanting (or excess). It's the thing that makes me put on makeup in the morning and think of my walks (which I really enjoy on their own merit) as little calorie burning excises, and it's the thing that makes all my food into numbers. It's good to be on a playing field that feels even, from where I'm standing. I suppose that this is what I would tell her, if I could tell her anything. Looks don't really count if you're amazing anyway, but they're a stick to beat you with if you're not brilliant. But, dear, you're an academic, you're bright and sparky and earnest and you stand straight for what you believe in, nothing else. Admirable. Noone really admires beautiful people on the sole merit of their beauty- everyone knows they're vacuous. The truly beautiful famed are the ones that have something behind their faces. I wouldn't swap my face, though I know it's not perfect and not half as beautiful as my sisters, because I like its quirks. I'd swap my body weight, but not its type, though it's large and mannish- but I like it, I like its practicality and movements. I'm getting closer to accepting, I think. I'd rather someone insulted me concerning the way my face is than called me a fluffy person. I don't care what you think of my face; I care about whether I'm effective or not. I'm proud of that. I'll get there with my body too one day. Then I'll be immune, and invulnerable.
I still think you're beautiful. Why do I want to say it if it's not important? I don't just mean corporeally, I mean everything. Beauty transcends. I mean, I don't describe people as beautiful often. I mean, you are my beautiful.
But if it's not important, couldn't I just as lovingly say, you are ugly? If you said that to me, in a loving tone, I would like it. I'd smile. I'd know you were complicit in what I think of the whole judging on looks world, I'd know you wouldn't care if I got old and grey and lost teeth and gained weight, I'd know...
Yet, I think you've heard ugly enough, in your short lifetime. I want you to hear beautiful, and accept ugly as well. Ugly can be beautiful.
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