Over and over

I just sat and watched The Devil Wears Prada again.

Watching it is like hell because it just makes me want nice stuff.

It makes me want to go out and Visa my way up Bond Street and Amex the entire length of Piccadilly.

That's not what's bothering me though.

What's bothering me is the massive jar of Quality Streets behind me that I have been munching. I've had about 7 of the fucking things and I can feel my waist expanding.

I still haven't had a drop to drink since the last day of 2007.

Replacing alcohol with chocolate is not an option. This cannot happen.

Fuckwank - I have 30 days before I'm on the beach in Cape Town, parading amongst the gays.

Shit shit shit.

And do you know something else?

This is what I say to my housemate:

"Have you seen my keys, I'm sure I left them on the kitchen counter?"

However, this is what I want to say to her:

"You fucken idiot, you've picked up my keys again, what the fuck have you done with them? This is like the ga-zillionth time you've done it and I am sick-to-fucking-death of having to put up the charade of looking them when I know they're in your handbag or under your bed or whatever. Fucksake."

Instead I smile and carry on looking them while grinding my teeth.

Shit, I shouldn't grind my teeth.

Instead I think I'm going to drag my sorry big fat ass to bed.

Tomorrow I am starting on the anabolics and the thermogenics to try and lose the last of my spare tyre.

Do you know what I used to do in my Very Fat days? (Incidentally: I now consider to be in the Fat-ish days)

When I was very fat I used to hate the way I looked so much that I used to take a towel and wrap it around my stomach and then strap it in place with a belt. I would then wear this under my pyjamas when going to bed.

My theory was that if your stomach was sucked in while you sleep, somehow muscles would develop.

I would never be able to sleep properly because firstly the belt buckle would constantly wake me up and secondly because my stomach would start to cramp so badly.

Because my dad raced cars and motorbikes he would have kidney belts which I used to steal to wear under my clothes to keep my stomach in.

It's the most upsetting thing in the world to look into the mirror and be repulsed by what you see.

Fat. Wobbly, ugly, loose and saggy fat.

Fat that you can feel shake when you run. A layer of fat that coats your stomach and that you can feel on your lower back.

And then you look at yourself and you hate yourself so your brain tells you that eating will make things better.

Eating makes you feel worse so you drink but that makes you drunk so you start crying and decide to throw the whole lot up.

In the toilet there is wine and food and spit and tears. You go bed in the hope that in the morning you'll be thin.

But you wake up and you can feel your stomach, which hasn't gone away. So you reach for the toast and chocolate spread.