whatever happened to my, whatever happened to my, whatever happened to my lunchbox
2003-11-03 - 9:52 p.m.

I feel sick. Nausea has been haunting me for the past 24hrs, possibly because I try to convince it to go away by eating copious amounts of chocolate.

Strangely, the packet of caramel tim-tams I just ate hasn't helped yet.

Abusive relationship with food: part billion. It all stems back to my childhood; I had parents who loved me but for the major chunk of it they just weren't there. I didn't get at the time that they were working because they loved me and wanted to give me the best they could, really, I get it now obviously.

But when I look back, my childhood was me, books, and food. Right now my life consists of uni and food. Okay, mainly food.

I need to take up smoking or something.

And stop being a stupid-suckedy-suck-suck-head.

I have goals... wheeeeee...

The other night I dreamed a lesbian tried to convince me to become a lesbian and since I was sick of guys I agreed and became one, but then all the lesbians turned unlesbian and I was the only one.

I think my subconscious is telling I'm going to get fat and die alone. I swear I'm 2/3rds of the way there already.

I miss anorexia, bring back the angry self-hate. There's still self-hate, it's just less energetic.

I'm so repetitive, aren't I. I'm a boring old repetitive fat cow.

If I got down on all fours in a paddock with some other cows and started mooing you wouldn't be able to tell the difference between us.

I have these day dreams lately that are more like nightmares, something happens to my mother, something I can't stop, with the recurring scenario that she won't remember the number for emergency services or just won't remember how to use the phone.

And they're so intense that when I jump back into reality there are tears on my face and I can't even remember the point where I started to cry because I was so wrapped up in it all.

I've been having them for a while now, but they've been getting more frequent lately. On the bright side, I haven't hyperventilated lately. Yay for breathing, yay yay.

Just stuck inside the gloom...

I lack substance. Maybe I'm being postmodern. But I don't even have style.

I'm feeling little. And like jelly. All wobbly and shakey and I don't know what else.

I just want to go to sleep and wake up when everything is over. Sick of it always being the middle.

I don't know what's wrong with me, except that I do know, I'm wrong with me. I needs a break from me. Me wants to talk to I about maybe seeing other people.

On to the crying game section of my soca essay. heteronormativity blah postmodern blah gender blah blah.

Waiting for the point where something means something.


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