Fellini

I believe this will be attempt number four at beginning this post. Something about me got discarded somehow and I'm useless. Everything about me lately seems awkward, contrived, and forced. What happened to the words that used to flow so easily, the creativity and the drive?

I want everything and nothing. And it seems I can't have either.

This state, thereby, is making me loathe everyone with an ounce of creativity within them. I'm avoiding all mediums of social networking, where I might glance upon someone else's success, and I couldn't even read many blogs because I kept saying, "Why can't I be brilliant like _____ is so effortlessly."

I want to sleep all the time and never sleep. And that is impossible as well.

What is it about myself that I can't accept? That really should be a why question, I suppose, because it seems I reject nearly everything about me that makes me. What does the world have in store for someone like me? Someone broken... but so broken that no one else can know about it?

I want to scream at everyone and be silent forever.

The desk I'm currently using is an antique school desk, with built-in inkwell. I'm looking at the stains and scribbles as if something written there might hold the answers to all my problems. I wonder what the children who sat here before me were like. Did they share my fears and dreams about life? Why can't I just surround myself with old cabinets and pottery for friends. Ask them to tell me stories to put my life in perspective. Stories about days when butter churns were more than just umbrella stands. When your shoes were lined with cardboard because they had holes, but you needed to keep walking. Not for exercise. Just because you had to.

I want to live and I want to die.

The house is creaking as if to tell me I need to sleep. It's saying, "Listen to me settle. Why don't you do the same?" I can't sleep. I keep losing pieces of myself every day. Something about my bed steals bits of my soul, and I wake up less functional, more tired, and without hope.

The days seem too long but I don't want tomorrow to come.

rambling along

I'm going to be the bitch and say it, even though I know I'm not the only one thinking it.

I hate thin men.

Something about them makes me feel huge, even when I'm comparatively not. TR used to be very thin but then he discovered that he liked food. I'm too exhausted to write a proper treatise on the whole male thin phenomenon. Plus, I feel a bit slighted as I don't believe I have any male followers. Prove me wrong, make yourself known! Shelving this for now...

---

I'm going to try and start writing more often again. Not because I think you all are just sitting and waiting for an update from me, but because it might keep me away from those damn meringues that made my evening the other day.

Also, I've become dependent on diet soda. Welcome me into the fold.

Hot dogs and eggs are being plated. Seriously people, I must say, high protein, low everything else has shockingly proved effective. Fuller longer on less calories? Why didn't I think to do this sooner? I'll discuss the incredibly unhealthy but helpful benefits later.

I woke up at 3:00pm today so forgive my lackluster nature.

Cheers,
Savory

More diazapam please?

If I could have a second skin, I'd probably dress up in you.

Oh, Hello!

Guess what? I'm on another diet. Surprised? I'm not.

Trying the Dukan diet, and if I just stayed at home all the time, I'm sure I'd have lost like 194 pounds by now. Temptation lies beyond my doorstep, away from my fridge of safe foods. I've still lost like 5 pounds in a little more than a week, and I can at least say I'm being pseudo-healthy.

Just getting that boring stuff out of the way.

---

I've just gotten confirmation that I'll be appearing in a feature-film documentary. It's a secret, but my identity is supposed to be a secret to my readers, so I figure I'm not really telling anyone anything. Besides, it's not really featuring me, but my best friend... I'm a supporting character as usual. I'll probably end up on the cutting room floor.

I wouldn't care so much if I had prospects in my life beyond finishing my MA in September. However, it looks like I've taken the wrong turn in the backroads of life and ended up on a dead end street.

It's not even a street at this point, it's like a dirt road. No, not even that nice. It's the little patch of dead grass where people take a shortcut off the main path.

That's where I am, and the shortcut abruptly stops and I'm stuck in the middle of a forest.

It's kind of pathetic that after hearing people say, "You should do stand-up.... why don't you write a book?..... you are a really talented writer" blah blah bullshit blah blah, that the most I have to show for my talents are the random things that come out of my mouth too quickly for me to remember, or the writing on my anonymous blog on a topic that I can't share with anyone.

I'm stuck in the forest.

The only bright spot may be that being on camera (before I get cut out of the entire movie) might motivate me to get back to a respectable---but not skeletal---weight again.

I am obviously rusty, because I can't think of a way to end this rant. So I'm just cutting the transmission. Ah pun!

Silence

I've written about 4 really mopey posts this week, but I delete them right before I publish.

Like flipping on a lightbulb.

Last year, writing my dissertation fueled the flames of the fire that was my compulsion to lose weight.

This year is an entirely different matter.

I'd be really happy if things fell into place and I reached an equilibrium, but I still don't have a healthy relationship with food and my self-image. Today I ate a whole pizza. The only good thing about it is I washed it down with Diet Coke, which actually makes me feel pathetic. Like snickering at my fat friends who guzzle it down. What good does it do when your fridge is stocked with full fat milk and pudding snacks! Just drink goddamned regular Coke.

Diet Coke is for skinny people. Just like frappuccinos....

No, seriously, listen to my logic here for just a second. You and I both know that every time you see someone drinking one who isn't pathetically slim, you think "Well, that's why she's not a super model." You can seriously only get away with one if you're tiny. You might as well be eating a tub of butter in public, otherwise.

But the irony is when you're small, you will *never* ever want to drink one. Because like a McDonald's burger, you know that your indulgence is basically one day's worth of calories (possibly even for a normal person!).

I don't know why this dissertation has me flipped in the opposite direction. Possibly because I'm home by myself all the time. Even with my mother and TR, who have to love me no matter what, I would never ever eat a whole fucking pizza.

But when I'm alone, I trick myself into thinking that the calories don't count, because no one saw me. I can eat chow mein and cake at the same time without feeling grossed out. My bed becomes a dinner table. I basically lose all remnants of what makes me a human and not a pot-bellied pig rolling in its own muck.

My face is constantly broken out, posture ruined, I feel like I need to shower like 3 times a day, I get winded from how fast I'm accustomed to walking. My clothes all hang horribly. I'm embarrassed to even let myself see me naked.

Last week, I had a good few days. But of course, something replaced the food. Shopping. I spent about half of what was in my bank account. Now I'm saving money again, and somehow food keeps entering my mouth.

Something about keeping my hands busy, I think. When I'm not eating, I feel this urge to play tetris all the time. I'd take up smoking if I was less neurotic about smells.

I just need that flip to switch and stay there. Cast light on the dark, gross corners of my life. Compulsively read and write instead of eat. Be a starving artist.