TOTAL - 479. That gives me wiggle room for an additional cup of tea at night. Yeah, that'll put me a little over 500 but I'm okay with that. Especially since I'll be running daily.
Okay I'm going to get this thinny by summer. No more blubber rolls, no more swimming in my own fat. No more skin touching skin. And NO MORE gross feeling of food sitting in me.
I can tell I have gained so much weight this weekend. It's just disgusting. I can feel the fat blubbering out over the sides of my stomach, and jiggling my ass. Blubber and rolls all over my arms and legs. I can feel the food sloshing around inside of me. I hate it.
I took about 10 laxatives today, and I'm not really feeling any effects. I wish I could just get rid of everything and just feel that lovely empty feeling. Tomorrow is April. I'm going to eat only 500 cals a day and only veg/fruit. Pretty excited about the 30 day challenge.
Everyday: 500 cals; run at least 3 miles (except Thursdays); only veg/fruit and grains.
Michael got me thinking of things I want to do before I die and so I've started a list:
1. get my MA in history
2. write a great MA thesis in history
3. publish a book on the history of the Old Manse
4. write a murder mystery about the Old Manse
5. go to Quebec city again
6. go to Montreal
7. get really good at Latin and pass an exam
8. take a long hike up a mountain and photograph animals and plants
9. shoot a gun
10. shoot a bow and arrow
11. see the Grand Canyon
12. see the River Walk in San Antonio
13. be an extra is a big screen movie
14. see Niagara Falls
there it is for right now.
I think really I'd like to see 100 pounds this summer. I do believe I can reach that. This is the goal for summer. I'd like to see really tiny.
Enjoy some thinspo of Keira Knightley... easily the most beautiful woman on film. I've got to trim up my sides and my thighs, but other than this I'm her size. Shorter and I have bigger boobs, which I don't want those to shrink anymore!
So I only did three miles! YIKES! Who's a big fat slowpoke? Yup, this kid right here. So that's okay. I hopped on the scale and saw 110... that's okay, I just worked out, my muscles are all tight and I'm pretty gross with sweat. This week will concentrate on not eating, and purging to pure emptiness.
So this Easter I'm finally getting into my church... running. It's been a long ugly evil dark cold winter, but the weather these last few days have made me want to shout "halleujah!" Or however you spell that I"m not a Christian woman. I'm a bad ass runner woman! HELL YEAH!
Not the best thing I've ever written but not too shabby. Enjoy.
Grow You Some Nails!
The High Violence and Low Stakes of Academic In
Fighting
The
structure of this paper will first outline the argument made by all three
parties, paired with immediate analysis.For the sake of space the historiographic significance will be included
at the end as a separate segment. This will hopefully allow the reader to
follow the trends of history data collection, and the usage of data in the
construction of narrative.
Dude Whines Like a Lady
Finlay’s
essay “The Refashioning of Martin Guerre” found in The American Historical
Review is less of a rebuttal to an
admittedly creative historical restructuring, as much as it is an attack on
another author’s success.However,
what Finlay illustrates to the reader is that new methodology in the recovering
of historical voices is a serious and worthwhile endeavour. Perhaps, not what
he had intended.
Robert
Finlay lays his case almost chiefly on the assumption that there is no evidence
for the inferences made by Davis in her book, The Return of Martin Guerre.[1]What starts as an acceptably aggressive
thesis soon devolves into what could be read as academic one-upmanship.Beginning with thinly veiled backhanded
compliments Finlay begins to schmooze the reader into his corner.“Davis eschews that temptation”
speaking of the modern stereotype to project misogynistic ideas onto historical
figures, Finlay applauds Davis’ ability to avoid such a pitfall.[2]“One of the strength of her book is its
portrait of Jean de Coras as a thoughtful, humane scholar, fully capable of
recognizing female intelligence and of looking beyond elitist and patriarchal
prejudices in his pursuit of truth.”[3]It is too bad, of course, that Finaly
himself is not such a “thoughtful, humane scholar” as he would immediately have
recognized the very sincere insight bolstered by intense research that Davis
did to create this deconstructionist reading of the case.Finlay goes on to demonstrate the
patriarchal attitude that he allegedly dislikes.“The four sisters of Martin Guerre were apparently
displaying typically feminine calculation in siding with the pseudo-husband
against his accuser.”[4]
In this Finaly implies two very disconcerting ideas. First that it is
appropriate to read women as conniving manipulative creatures.Second, that making assumptions about
historical figures based on inference from evidence is okay… so long as you are
NOT Natalie Zemon Davis.
Taking
issue with Davis’ lack of information is only half the battle.Finlay criticizes the use of inference
Davis must rely on to tell the story adequately.Final takes exception to what he sees as a feminist voice in
Davis’ retelling of Martin Guerre.“Davis fails to show that her view of women in peasant society is
relevant to the case she is examining.Instead, she imposes her notion of peasant women on Bertrande, whose
conduct and character thereby are seen as if Bertrande had regarded the
pseudo-Martin with the same calculating, self-interested eye that was
supposedly characteristic of peasant women in general.”[5]Finlay lambastes Davis’ assumption that
Bertrande, the wife of Martin Guerre and eventual wife to his imposter Arnaud
du Tihl, would behave like other women of her time and location.What Finlay appears to find so
infuriating is that Davis is going beyond creating a narrative, but is diving
head-first into creating a character.
Davis’
reconstruction of the story places a larger emphasis on Bertrande. While Martin
retains the title, it is clear that Bertrande is the main character, and why
not, the reader will spend the most amount of time with her.According to Davis Bertrande is a
complicit voice in the relationship with Arnaud, the imposter Martin, or “new
Martin” as Davis will term him.[6]However as Finlay argues, “when she
considers the relationship between Bertrande and Arnaud, the linchpin of her
book she is faced with a central difficulty: the historical record indicates
that Bertrande was universally regarded as the impostor’s victim, not his
accomplice.” [7] Davis lacks
the evidence of what was going on inside Bertrande’s head. Unfortunately
Bertrande failed to leave behind a diary, or even a note reading “I was in on
it” but what Davis does to understand her is a little sociological footwork.
Unfortunately Finlay was too lame
to do his.
Sister Streetfighter
Natalie
Zemon Davis defends her book with precision seldom witnessed outside of kung fu
movies in her essay “On the Lame” also found in the American Historical Journal[8].Immediately on the offensive Davis
makes short work of Finlay’s attacks citing that she “cannot blame Robert
Finlay” for essentially stealing her methods and applying them to his own
attack on her.She then goes on to
detail where the methodological differences between Finlay and herself
lie.“Both of us would like to
know ‘what happened’ when Arnaud du Tilh arrive in the village of Artigat and
stay there as Martin Guerre for three years and more.”[9]Davis believes what happened was that
there was a mixed bag of reactions with some of the towns folk and family
members being fooled and some being suspicious.Davis states directly that in Finlay’s interpretion Arnaud
the actor, managed to fool every soul in town.A marvelous feat since it included his wife of several years
who was duped and remained so until seeing her real husband in court years
later.
Davis
takes Finlay to task stating that he is willing to walk away from the
sociological and cultural data that would imply Bertrande could possibly be a
willing accomplice.The boxing
gloves go on as Davis writes, “Finlay gives short shrift to my material on
Basque customs, migration, property and land sales, inheritance, women’s work,
judicial practice, and the rest as ‘context’ and ‘color in historical
reconstruction’”[10].Clearly, if this man is going to
complain over a lack of evidence then it would have been a stronger argument
had Davis not been practically drowning in evidence.She takes the time to comb through seemingly endless
supplies of court documents, social custom accounts and memoirs left behind by
the judges.Meticulously
researched and overly generous in a bibliography The Return of Martin Guerre is a prime example of creative non-fiction, enough to
drive Truman Capote insane with jealousy.
What
Davis does and what will influence later historic story-tellers is to create a
historical work that reads like a movie.The books begins with “an expository style for the first part of the
book that could provide the equivalent of cinematic movement, with
flash-forwards rather than flashbacks.”[11]Creating a readable and empathetic view
of the true protagonist, Bertrande, not Martin or Arnaud, after all, it is
called the RETURN of Martin Guerre,
implying that he is absent most of the book.
The
large argument, aside from creativity and lack of evidence that Finlay lays at
Davis’ feet is based on a single statement she makes in the books “the touch of
the man on the woman.”Finlay,
like most people reading a statement like that would initially roll their eyes,
after all, gentlemen, you are not that memorable.Sorry, fact.But what Finlay failed to notice were the quotation marks around the
word, implying that this was not a statement that Davis had created but one
that she was borrowing from another source.Finlay credits her with this and takes it to the gutter,
believing that the touch can only be read as sexual.Davis corrects him by laying out all that a touch is.“But the ‘touch of the man’ is a
broader idea.”[12]Davis argues that this is not just a
bedroom reference, but a bodily reference.“Let’s remember that the resemblances between Arnaudand Martin was solely a matter of face
and lineaments – not perfect, for some testified that Martin was darker than
Arnaud and had a pug nose, but good.”[13]Davis is setting up for the knockdown
punch of inference and evidence in her final statement that her heroine would
identify an imposter easily “when Bertrande finally found herself in the
embrace of Arnaud du Tilh, she was feeling a body quite unlike the one she had
lain next to and held for nine or ten years, unclothed as well as clothed
(early woodcuts of couples in the marriage bed shot them with nightcaps but
naked).”[14]
Davis’
use of creative re-reading, and unbounded research makes a strong case for the
probability of Bertrande’s complicity in the reconstruction of Martin
Guerre.Taking research from the
surrounding area to create a sociological reading of the mentality of peasant
women in the Basque region Davis creates a plausible interpretation of the
events. More than a feminist modern reading of events, as Finlay alleges, Davis
constructs a historic character motivated and acting in her own agency. It is
creative and interpretative, but it is equally plausible and competent.Thanks to Davis women have a historic
character to represent them as normal humans. Not queens or warriors or
nuns.But as normal everyday
figures that occupy homes, and villages and fields. People who work and live
and die, just like men. These are the historical figures that, through lack of
voice, haunt the countryside looking for outlets.
Can’t We All Just Get Along?
Haunted
history is the very detail that Ethan Kleinberg seeks to establish in his essay
“Haunting History: Deconstruction and the Spirit of Revision” appear in History
and Theory.Kleinberg initially takes the high road of the argument,
trying to avoid the stray bullets.He identifies that the real danger in these essays is the use of
deconstruction, which seeks to question any ability to truly record and
understand history.“The
deconstruction strategy is to approach a text (historical or otherwise) as a
site of contestation and struggle, though one that is hidden because one
element in the text asserts itself as the source of order by establishing a
hierarchy of meaning.”[15]Kleinberg notes the danger in doubting
everything.Deconstruction allows
a contemporary historian to take a text, such as the legal documents
surrounding the imposter Arnaud du Tihl, and to take the central focus off of
the wronged party, Martin Guerre, and refocus the interest on an overlooked
character, Bertrande.At first
glance this is not necessarily dangerous, however when put into the large frame
of historical knowledge, it opens the door to questioning knowledge in general.To approach a text as a site of
contestation is to immediately look to pull it apart, to question what is
valued, and what should be re-established in the “hierarchy”.
But
the hierarchy is established by the author, not the data.As Kleinberg writes, “the
reconstruction of a historical event requires imagination in constructing a
compelling argument and narrative.Deconstruction exposes the ordering of the events or argument, laying
bare the authorial choices at work in it.”[16]Davis made authorial choices in her
recreation of the story, and created a new hierarchy of importance in the
story. Martin Guerre, the abandoning husband, Arnaud du Tihl, the opportunistic
stand-in, are replaced by Bertrande, the thoughtful willful wife.But what Kleinberg fails to understand
is that Davis was aware of her creative choices.“Both Davis and Finlay seemed to agree that being overly
‘literary’ or imaginative was a bad thing for historians.”[17]It is easy to see that Davis would
disagree, depending on the level of overly.Davis would agree that
complete fabrication is inappropriate, however she does assert that it is
necessary in many cases that imagination is mandatory in restoring voices to
those whom history has silenced.
Of
the three essays, it is Kleinberg’s that really drives home the danger of
deconstructing history, making the ghost real.While Finlay and Davis argue over the fine points of her
story, they do not really delve into the inherent danger in making history, and
knowledge, meta.But Kleinberg
asserts that while the “ghost story is fully formed” it is an exorcizable demon.[18]
An American Ghost Story
In
collection of essays[19],
Kathleen MacDonald, brought the attention of the historic narrative world to
the very real problem that the Hollywood film industry is causing.History, as a misrepresentation is
nothing new. No one complained when Gerald O’Hara assumed that since Lee had
surrendered Georgia would too, even though he was wrong. No one was really
terribly offended when Hitler died in an explosion in a movie theater. But
McDonald argues that while they may not be offended something very dangerous is
happening.That the American Film
Industry may, in the future, be a source of data, which is a amazing as it is
barely a source of entertainment currently.Movies like Inglorious Basterds and National Treasure are fun, and anyone caught taking those films
seriously is schooled quickly by his or her friends. However some films prove
the danger in application of Davis’ method. For example, films like The
Hurricane vindicate a man tried and
convicted of murder twice while vilifying and grossly generalizing the
population that put him in prison.
The
good of Davis’ method is apparent in the creation of new narrations.Books that focus on widely
misunderstood commonalities like Outliers, or Freakanomics would
never have found a voice were it not for Davis’ technique of finding data then
creating a narrative from it.Both
books deal in statistical data that addresses norms and anomalies about the
human existence, both with highly provocative creative narratives. However,
within the books lay the danger of Davis’ method of
seek-and-ye-shall-find.Steven
Levitt, economist, and Steven Dubner, New York Times writer, both were heavily
criticized for their work, specifically the theory that Roe v. Wade brought
down the crime rates[20].This theory implies that the children
who were aborted post the Roe v. Wade decision had potentially crime shaping
lives ahead of them[21].These unborn children failed to live up
to the promise of becoming America’s violent youth and therefore America was saved
the impending doom that the Regan administration and Chuck Norris movies
promised.Obviously, this theory
has several problems, children of broken homes, or impoverished families do not
necessarily commit crime, and this theory is quite obviously racist. Both
Stevens stick to their guns claiming the numbers back up their beliefs, however
it is arguable that this book could fuel a dangerous fire if the idea fell into
the wrong mind.
Creating
narrative and probabilities is never a bad idea. It helps bridge the gap of
time, allowing a modern day reader to empathize with a historic actor. This can
also work to the highly valuable end of creating empathy between historically
divided cultures. Muslims, Christians and Jews do share a common ancestry, and
perhaps creating a narrative allowing members of these groups to better
understand that shared history could create modern day empathy, or at least
open a dialogue.The danger is in
the direction of probabilities and the reader.
First,
Americans have never been good with probabilities[22].Americans are binary people at heart,
and that’s a valuable attitude in tough times. But it is a dangerous attitude
in times of change.However,
walking away from a philosophical argument and into a more concrete argument I
would like to point out that the direction of empathetic narration is a very
dangerous field.Davis chose to
enlighten her reader on the mindset of a small group of people living in a
specific and narrow corner of the world. Unfortunately, so did Thomas Dixon.To compare Davis to Dixon is unfair.
However Davis admitted to writing an imaginative history, which I am certain
Dixon would admit to as well.
Creative
neo-narrations of historical fact are an essential point to the creation of the
historic record. If not for people like Greenblatt and Davis and even Hurston
history would be a bland recollection of white men killing other white men
while owning women and non-white men.Davis works to re-enfranchise a group that history has disenfranchised,
women of peasant clases.This is
all well and good, however what about groups that have been disenfranchised for
good reason? What about the Ku Klux Klan, or Neo-Nazi, or for that matter,
Nazis in general? Shouldn’t they have a say in the historic record? Do they not
have a folklore that gives value to their action and inspires empathy to their
cause?NO, OF COURSE THEY DON’T!
However it is the crazies that historian must worry about.Faurisson’s anti-semitism came to a
beautifully crazy head in his letters to Le Monde where he revealed his findings that the gas chambers of the concentration camps were
merely an imaginative creations.While Faurisson uses the very clever Bill O’Reilly techinique of merely
asking questions, like were Anne Frank and Elie Weisel liars, it is not him
that historians must worry about. Robert Faurisson is a nut case. He is a
well-educated, well-spoken, well-dressed nut case. He can put on a suit, and
get a doctorate, but people, people with good sense, will ultimately walk away
the minute he starts on a bat-shit crazy rant. It is Noam Chomsky that
historians must worry about.Chomsky, famously defended, not Faurisson’s findings, but his freedom to speech, signing a petition that
read, “We strongly protest these efforts to deprive Professor Faurisson of his
freedom of speech and expression, and we condemn the shameful campaign to
silence him. We strongly support Professor Faurisson's just right of academic
freedom and we demand that university and government officials do everything possible
to ensure his safety and the free exercise of his legal rights.”[23]While Chomsky, channeling Voltaire,
does make a compelling point that freedom of speech must be use to protect the
speech that we abhor, it is wrong to assume that it should be extended to the
speech that will get people killed.Robert Faurisson[24]
and academic freedom aside, at some point it will fall on history’s shoulders
to set the record straight… and in stone.
Davis
Natalie Zemon, "On the Lame," American Historical Review, 93, no. 3 (1988): 572-603, JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web.12 Jan. 2013. P578.
Davis,
Natalie Zemon.The Return of
Martin Guerre.Cambridge.Harvard University Press.1985.
DiNardo,
John. "Freakonomics: Scholarship in the Service of Storytelling". American
Law and Economics Review (Oxford
Journals) 8 (3): 615–626.
Finlay,
Robert. "The Refashioning of Martin Guerre." The American
Historical Review Jun. 93.3 (1988):
553-71. JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web. 12
Jan. 2013.
Kleinberg
Ethan, "Haunting History: Deconstruction and the Spirit of Revision,"
History and Theory, 46, no. 4 (2007): 113-143, JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web.12 Jan. 2013.. P116.
McDonald
Kathleen, The Americanization of History: Conflation of Time and Culture in
Film and Television, (Newcastle upon
Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publication, 2011).
Steven
Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner. Freakonomics: A Rogue Economist Explores the
Hidden Side of Everything. William
Morrow/HarperCollins. 2005.
Vidal-Naquet,
Peirre (1992). "On Faurisson and Chomsky, Assassins of Memory, Columbia
University Press.
[1]Finlay, Robert. "The Refashioning of Martin
Guerre." The American Historical Review Jun. 93.3 (1988): 553-71. JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web. 12 Jan. 2013.
[2]Finlay, Robert. "The Refashioning of Martin
Guerre." The American Historical Review Jun. 93.3 (1988): 553-71. JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web. 12 Jan. 2013.
[3]Finlay, Robert. "The Refashioning of Martin
Guerre." The American Historical Review Jun. 93.3 (1988): 553-71. JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web. 12 Jan. 2013.
[4]Finlay, Robert. "The Refashioning of Martin
Guerre." The American Historical Review Jun. 93.3 (1988): 553-71. JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web. 12 Jan. 2013.
[5]Finlay, Robert. "The Refashioning of Martin
Guerre." The American Historical Review Jun. 93.3 (1988): 553-71. JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web. 12 Jan. 2013. P557
[6]Davis, Natalie Zemon.The Return of Martin Guerre.Cambridge.Harvard
University Press.1985.
[7]Finlay, Robert. "The Refashioning of Martin
Guerre." The American Historical Review Jun. 93.3 (1988): 553-71. JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web. 12 Jan. 2013. P557
[8]Davis Natalie Zemon, "On the Lame," American
Historical Review, 93, no. 3 (1988):
572-603, JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web.12 Jan. 2013.
[9]Davis Natalie Zemon, "On the Lame," American
Historical Review, 93, no. 3 (1988):
572-603, JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web.12 Jan. 2013.P573
[10]Davis Natalie Zemon, "On the Lame," American
Historical Review, 93, no. 3 (1988):
572-603, JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web.12 Jan. 2013. P573.
[11]Davis Natalie Zemon, "On the Lame," American
Historical Review, 93, no. 3 (1988):
572-603, JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web.12 Jan. 2013. P575
[12]Davis Natalie Zemon, "On the Lame," American
Historical Review, 93, no. 3 (1988):
572-603, JSTOR. ITHAKA. Web.12 Jan. 2013. P578.
[15]Kleinberg Ethan, "Haunting History:
Deconstruction and the Spirit of Revision," History and Theory, 46, no. 4
(2007): 113-143, www.jstor.org/stable/4502287 (accessed March 30, 2013). P114
[16] Kleinberg Ethan, "Haunting History:
Deconstruction and the Spirit of Revision," History and Theory, 46, no. 4
(2007): 113-143, www.jstor.org/stable/4502287 (accessed March 30, 2013). P116.
[17]Kleinberg Ethan, "Haunting History: Deconstruction
and the Spirit of Revision," History and Theory, 46, no. 4 (2007):
113-143, www.jstor.org/stable/4502287 (accessed March 30, 2013). P117.
[18]Kleinberg Ethan, "Haunting History:
Deconstruction and the Spirit of Revision," History and Theory, 46, no. 4
(2007): 113-143, www.jstor.org/stable/4502287 (accessed March 30, 2013). P.134.
[19] McDonald Kathleen, The Americanization of History:
Conflation of Time and Culture in Film and Television, (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars
Publication, 2011).
[20]DiNardo, John. "Freakonomics: Scholarship in the
Service of Storytelling". American Law and Economics Review (Oxford Journals) 8 (3): 615–626.
[21]Steven Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner. Freakonomics:
A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything. William Morrow/HarperCollins. 2005.
It's really hard to go back to normal. It's so weird to think that last year at this time I was forty fatty pounds overweight. I was eating anything and everything I could get my hands on. And the weirdest part of all was that I was buying up cute dresses and thinking I looked good. Bleck! I look at the pics of myself and want to throw up.
I took six laxatives to get the rest of the nonsense out of my body. Tomorrow I'm going running again. I think I'll do it on the treadmill, possibly one of the last inside runs I'll have to endure before I get to run outside. I'm thinking I'll be able to get outside soon!
Anyway, I'm off to finish my paper. I have this paper for history class due, and I used yesterday and today to edit it down to nine pages. It was at 12... yeah it's at 15 now. Fuck my life.
At any rate, hooray for me. I'm already dying whore thin...
I feel like crazy Arnold Schwazenneger (sic), yelling "get out!" But I'm yelling at a belly full of food. Yuck and gross. I wish it would leave. I'm feeling a little full and yucky and nasty. I'm hoping that I would pass the food, but sometimes it takes longer.
So I'm good with not getting to 100, I'm actually good with being 105. Summer's coming and I'll be there in NO TIME. But I don't want to feel bloated. That's a terribly uncomfortable feeling.
And I have to be okay with that. I mean, did Anne Hathaway really look good in Les Mis? No, she looked like crap. Were Natalie Portman or Mila Kunis hot in Black Swan? Hell to the no! I have a little tiny tight waist, nice firm boobs, a great ass. I'm not bragging seriously that's my body. 34 24 34. Yup. That's me. Shit. Brick. House.
So, why do I have this idea that skinny bony is hot? God damn you magazines, and tv, and film, and all visuals of all women ever in all of history. God damn you to hell!
So it's coming clear to me that even if the supreme court manages to drop the ball on DOMA and Prop 8, eventually (and I'm not a fan of that word) we will grow up and give Americans the right to marry. Because this isn't really a gay v straight issue. This is a human rights issue. We have members of our society who are gay, good for them, they are tax paying members of our community and the government (which takes it's cut of their earnings) refuses them equal protection under the law and equal representation in the law. So, as a woman I can really relate to this. Yeah, give me a break if you really think we are equal. Be a woman, get raped and then come talk to me about how equal we are.... after the cops call you a slut and examine why you were dressed that way. Fuck the patriarchy.
Anyway, I think this sums it up. But one last thing. A christian student told me that while she doesn't support gay marriage she doesn't hate. I dig that. I dig that the christian god teaches her that she must tolerate her fellow man. Funny that as an atheist my BRAIN tells me that I must love and accept my fellow man. Weird, huh?
Honestly, I don't see how people can "love to eat". Frankly, I'm bored half the time I'm forcing mouthfuls in, chewing like a robotic cow and then swallowing. I can feel the food travel down my throat and sit in me. And sit in me. And SIT in me. I swear to god I do nothing slowly but when I eat it's like time slows to a stop. Grrr. Boring.
I wish we could just take a vitamin, and we would all be the perfect weight and all be the correct size for our build. We would all get the right amount of proteins and nutrients. And we wouldn't have to eat. Boring. Snore.
So, I'm an atheist. I'm not a big scary one, meaning that I pretend to KNOW that there's no God. I'm pretty sure there's not, and even if there is I've never spoken to this being and I don't see why I should have to move to his beat. That was glib. What I mean is that this entity known as God, the Judea-christian god, has never directly spoken to me in any meaningful and clear way. There have been times, as in everyone's life, where a believer could interpret what is really random accidents and incidents into a form of communication. However, I was raised Catholic. The god of my tradition's faith is omnipotent, meaning everywhere at all times and in all things, so I'm gonna bet this being could communicate in a stronger way than a rainbow, or a deer on a trail on a morning run. I mean, let's be honest.
So what I don't get is why do people, whom I KNOW could not have interacted with their god in a meaningful and direct way think that putting their "traditional morals" in the path of other people is okay?
An atheist must be more moral than a Christian. That's an obvious fact. A Christian is handed a tailor made set of social codes based on, and backed by, generations of experimentation and communal agreement. An atheist must forever weigh the immediate incident on its own and determine the correct course of action based on that instant's particular wants and needs. A Christian knows that gay marriage is wrong because they have a church, a book and a community telling them. They have a legion of voices behind them bolstering their beliefs. An atheist must logically look at the situation and judge it in the here and now. And an atheist is alone. There is no legion of other atheists, we aren't really joiners. We must use our own set of experiences, and our own finely tuned empathy to understand the struggle of our fellow man to see into the pros and cons of our community when it comes in contrast to the individual.
Going further. We, as atheists, must forever be tuning our empathy to others. This is the only way we can ever make a moral decision. We must forever be thinking of ways to better understand, love and accept our fellow man. We must forever be in debate to weigh their wants against the goals of a community. Whereas a Christian is able to fall back on communal mores as a crutch.
The final point is that the morals of an atheist are more valueable. This is straight logical philosophy. An atheist is in constant struggle with their morals, allowing them to be dynamic and mutable. This struggle creates strength. A Christian is allowed to keep their morals in a static form. Never to be questioned, evolved or improved. A Christian does not earn their morals through a lifetime of experiences but rather they are given their morals from their parents and church. Something given has no value.
Yeah, anorexics are thoughtful people too you know.
Making chicken pot pie for dinner tonight. But my tummy feels jiffy so I'm not eating a thing. But I think I'm going to make these delicious little cheese biscuits to go with it. See I'm not making traditional chicken pot pie, it's like a chicken ala king casserole and then serve it with the cheese biscuits.
Okay, ate my chinese food. I think I have about 10 laxatives in me doing their work. I feel rotten, but I know it's necessary to get the food out. Yuck! Food living inside you, weighing you down, making you sick and fat. Gross.
So I just got back from the doctor's office. I'm at 109 with all my clothes on, which means I'm probably 108. I'm okay with that. I'm a little bummed out because I intend to eat chinese food in a little while. Took five laxatives. Wicked excited that I was able to fake health. See, here's the thing. I'm not really that thinny. 105, 106, 107 looks fine on my body. My doctor sees me as just really healthy. So I can dump down 10 more pounds before I worry about anything.
At work things are stressful. Student teacher's college advisor is a stupid woman. She hasn't done her job and now I have to prove that I've been doing mine. She's pretending that I never contacted her or voiced any of my concerns to her. Bullshit! I gave her copious notes and verbally expressed my concerns to her. I will NEVER work with a student teacher ever again. I don't even think I'll talk to one!
This morning was so nice waking up skinny at goal weight. I'm on route to definitely get to 100 by birthday. Tomorrow is a doctor's appoinment, and I'm a little worried about skirting past her at my weight and with the amount of laxatives in my digestive track. I had a bagel and four laxatives on my way to school. Felt so good I took five more during class. I love it, people must think I'm a tictac fiend!
Had a good class. I really like this class and had a fun time going postal on Ginszburg kind of irresponsible view of folkloric inspired actions in history. I'm a big one for allowing excuses into the historical record for evil actions. Where's the end? Do we allow folklore to excuse the actions of the nazi's? or does folklore get to prevent the spread of democracy in our own country by preventing gay people to marry? Yeah, folklore isn't the problem. BIGOTS are the freaking problem.
Hey, I forgot to celebrate finally hitting my goal weight of 105! I knew I could do it! Yes, thank you thank you. Please, hold the applause. I'd like to thank the makers of food, not because I eat it but because I know it's poisonous and trying to kill me. I'd like to thank stress for helping me get sick everyday and throw up what little food I did put in me. I'd like to thank my professor for looking at me like I'm a fat cow every time I stuff a piece of scone in my face during class. I'd like to thank my coworkers and family for pointing out how boney and skeletal I am.
So the situation with student teacher has become much more complicated as his advisor has decided to attack me. According to her she is surprised with the information, and stunned that there is a problem as I never communicated anything to her previously. I'm a little confused as in our last conference I was MORE THAN clear about my expectation, how they are not being met, my very real concerns and what would be the consequences if this continued. Oddly, my student teacher bucked up, took it on the chin and is moving forward both positively and aggressively (towards the curriculum) I have every confidence that if what I said is taken seriously, if his work ethic focuses and constricts to being more effective he will not only pass, but make an excellent teacher. But the work has to start coming in. No more teaching off the top of your head.
Anyway, on the way home I had a big chocolate shake from McDonald's with five laxatives. I'm 106 today... came home weighing 105, probably will be 104 by tomorrow morning. I thought I'd be happier. I'm not. I'm tired. I'm shaky. I'm weak. But I'm 5 pounds away from perfect.
God dammit I love her. Been listening to this pretty much non-stop since I got home this afternoon. A little beat up. A little bummed out. A little worried that I"m gonna get a face full of acid tomorrow.
Best part is that my husband just yelled at me to stop talking about it. Yeah. Fuck you pal. I'm a woman, if you honestly don't think I won't recall that and throw it in your face whenever you are having a problem you obviously have NEVER met a woman before.
Anyway, the lovely empty feeling finally showed up. Thank god.
I love this film. Wrote my MA thesis on it (well this and The Wrestler, but really THIS). I love her. Not only is she brilliant in this role, but she was able to trim her body into what it needed to be. She controlled her eating, her life, her needs and desires. She cut herself down to size. This is my present to myself.
Meanwhile, she is her own villain. I'm thinking that I am a villain. If not to myself to my student teacher. I hate that I had to crush someone. And I didn't want to, but I can't hide that he's not strong enough. What can I do? Do I lie to him? Do I shuffle him along?
There's nothing worse than having to tell someone they are bad at a job. It's the worst thing in the whole damned world. I hate it! I hate hate hate it! I want to waste away like Amy Whinehouse and just disappear. That lovely empty can't get here soon enough. Take my thoughts down the river, take my brains to the wash room and flush them with my soul. Get out. Get everything out of me. Not just food. Get the pain, the depression, the shame the pounding of my brains and that voice telling me that every mistake I'll ever make is coming to eat my alive. If only I can get small enough they will pass me over like a rotten grape. I want to be so slim I am invisible. Pray for it.
So I met with my student teacher this afternoon. It went about as well as I suspected, he was sad and hurt by my frank analysis. I was sorry that I was hurting someone, but stood by my observations. I hate hurting people. Let me type that again I REALLY HATE HURTING PEOPLE. I'm bad at it first off. There's a professor who hurt me pretty badly with some very nasty comments so to get back I called him a bad person and said I was sorry I ever met him. I'm certain that elicited no more than an eye-roll and snicker. Also, I'd much rather just hurt myself. I REALLY LOVE HURTING MYSELF! 10 laxatives later (since 4pm) and I'm just waiting for that beautiful big empty. Light headed dizzy twirling nothingness filling me, lifting me out of myself and washing away all the awful of the day. I can't wait.
Fingers crossed he doesn't come in with a cup of acid and throw it in my face tomorrow.
It's not drugs. It's not drink. It's discipline. I eat only a little, and then I get rid of it FAST. I feel light headed, and my heart races, but I can feel that lovely empty sinking into my body and I feel like I'm falling into the couch. My skin doesn't hurt, my ears don't ring and my brain backs off. I feel so good.
Here's some thinspo for ya...
Here's me right now... pretty happy with these measurements. Obviously not really me in the second pic, but we have the same measurements. I'm hoping to get smaller though!
Here's where I'm hoping to be by my birthday. It's harder for me because I'm so damned short!
Okay, pretty happy about that. I know I'm being a big fat hypocrite (and I mean big and fat) but I have to get okay with being a normal body weight. If I had a student who was being this ridiculous with food I'd have knocked her on her ass and rammed some hard-core feminism ideals and then when she was full of that, we have burgers and shakes.
So I'm feeling a little low about work. Everything is going well in my teaching.. actually everything is going great in that department. I am a little worried my seniors teased me something awful about how they plan to shut down soon... I was hoping to get them to work for at least the next three weeks, but they are pretty sure this Thursday will be the last day their brains put in. Lord help me. Anyway it's my student teacher. I took this kid on because I honestly do feel I have a lot to teach another teacher. I know how conceited that sounds, but really I prep well, and I plan in advance excellently. I am disappointed that this person is lazy, refuses to plan and doesn't seem to have much of a clue. This is a great profession. Teaching is a blessing. Teaching is the best profession every. But it comes with a lot of work and responsibility. This kid comes in with a spark-notes understanding of the literature, and a bad attitude. He's unprepared and therefor can barely contain my kids, which is hard enough when you DO have a plan. Because he's unprepared the kids ask him questions, as they are confused. He snaps at them for asking too many questions. Really? I thought we were in a classroom.
Tomorrow I think I'm going to have to sit him down and have a very stern talk with him. Then I'll let him ride it out until Thursday and terminate him. But it's probably better for him that I do it right away. I hate this. I'm a teacher so I don't have to be anyone's boss. This sucks.
I can't wait for the summer because I have this wonderful ritual of watching films in the back yard. I project them onto the wall of my house and sit in a big comfy chair and roast marshmellows and leave a nice little fire going and I sit and watch movies. It's a great great great way to spend a summer evening. It's relaxing, and you just feel like a nice peace to life. I feel like my brain shuts off and stops yelling at me, at least for an evening.
But what amazes me is that while I was excited to put in my Lord of the Rings triology, this summer I couldn't care less about The Hobbit. So that movie was okay, but it was boring and filled with a bunch of extra crap from the Simarillion...which had NOTHING to do with the ring...okay, I'm geeking out for no reason. But I am a little bummed out because my summers are the only time of the year that my brain leaves me alone and doesn't pick on me. I'd like to see some good movies this summer in my backyard. But I can't think of what that will be. I'm gonna have to go to the 80s for inspiration.
I mean these women are just terrible. Muffin tops and rolls and huge flabby arms. Oh my goodness! I'm just so happy that I lost the weight, but looking at these girls makes me realize that I have a lot more to lose. I've got to get myself down to 100 by my birthday. It's got to go. Bones are beautiful.
Okay, day two of eating like a normal. I am feeling okay. Had a good sensible lunch at Uno's, goat cheese and field greens salad with tuscan pesto soup and an unsweetened ice tea. Feeling good about that. I'm just finishing a chocolate shake from Friendly's. A little worried that I'll look up the calorie count and go mental. But if I keep myself busy with a paper for History I'll be fine.
So I had that burger, ate the other half for dinner and polished off the fries. I'm feeling okay. There's no nightmare... well okay, yeah I did actually have a nightmare but that was because I hadn't put food like that in my body and I didn't eat late! I'm at 109 this morning. That was disappointing, but I have to keep in mind that I WAS 145. I'm not going to be 145 just because I have ONE burger. I'm going to be 109 because I have one burger. I don't eat like that often... or ever really. So I'm okay.
Okay, let's see how long this lasts. Normally I'd be running this off, but I still have pain in the back of my leg from that cramp two days ago. Weird.
Breakfast: bowl of low cal cereal in skim milk. Tea.
I couldn't resist. I felt so good getting rid of everything. I was able to be alone in my body. No food, no drink. Just me and my thoughts. Now I'm watching Resident Evil Retribution and having a blast at it. Love this crap. I just love love love this crap!
Well, I'm back from Texas Roadhouse. I had a bacon burger with cheese, fries and boneless buffalo wings to start. I drank an unsweetened iced brewed tea. I was able to get down about 5 of the wings, they were really thumb-sized bites. I was able to eat half the burger. I had 8 of the fries, they were steak fries. And I feel okay with what. I ate until I was full and stopped. I do not feel the need to get it rid of it. And I'm going to try to keep it in me. I just don't want to make myself sick. I want to look at my body and be okay with what I see. Everybody else is amazed with me. Everybody else is actually a little sickened by my bony body. I want to be okay.
34/24/34... YES!
Am I a little sad that my boobs are shrinking... well, yeah. I'll admit that. I look at people on TV as the skinny movement becomes less and less popular and I see big healthy boobs in their tops. But then I think, I can outrun you. I can survive in the wild on 500 calories a day, keeping my wits and body in check. I can feel hunger and know that this is just a state of mind that I can turn down and OFF! In fact, I haven't felt hunger pains in more than a week. See, you don't NEED food, you are just addicted to it. If all of North Korea can function on 1000 cals a day, I can live very happily on 500.
Now if only my fatty thighs will shrink. I'm stuck at 20inches.
My right leg gets these terrible cramps at night. I will wake up screaming, literally SCREAMING from the pain. I'm searching the internet and do have a doctor's appointment on Friday (hooray) but if any of the vampires reading this could tell me if they know anything, I'd love it. Of course, as vampires you are dead and your blood doesn't circulate so you can't get cramps... or you may live in a state of constant cramps. IDK. Okay, good night vampires.
Finally finished my period and now I can finally begin starving myself again. Didn't do that much damage, just up .4, so I'm sitting slimmy at 107.4 Hooray!
This book is an excellent read, but I wouldn't know as I'm listening to it in my car. BTW still have that POS Saturn VUE.. hoping to trade it in for NEW car April vacation. Thinking of a nice little hatchback. I'm not a soccer mom, I'll never be a soccer mom, I don't need a kid-transporter.
Anyway, Survivor's Club by Ben Sherwood is an excellent book. It showcases stories of extreme survival and points out how these people managed to live and succeed after their trauma. They are certain standards for survival, the first is: You are stronger than you know. Cliched yes, but nonetheless true! Not just the stories of mother who lift cars off their children, but pain thresholds are much higher in survival situations than in hospitals. Levels of tolerance increase when your amygdala can communicate the all important "put up or shut down" command to your body. The second is: None of this is relative. Meaning that if someone survives a shark attack they are no stronger than someone surviving a rape. I like this philosophy, and I love it even more now that it is backed up with science, research and data. Women who crumble and die after a rape aren't week, they just were not able to rebuild their will to live, either through genetics, society or psychology. There's a third which is the most important, attitude is everything. If you don't see yourself surviving, you won't. It's a little Eleanor Rooseveltish in it's thought, but hey, that's fine by me, I love that crazy lady!
It's an excellent book and so I went to the website to find out where I sat on the survivor scale, convinced I was in the top 20% of those prepared to survive. I'm in the middle section, grouped with thinkers. Yes, I'm a thinker, I agree with this. But I honestly thought I'd be higher up on the survivor's evolutionary scale. What I was told to work on, building relationships. Yeah, that'll happen! No. I'm very happy with the quite polite tense seething hatred I have with my parents, the awkward we-don't-actually-like-each-other relationship I have with my brother and sister-in-law. I love my husband, he's my best and really only friend. I love that I only talk to people at work or on facebook. I'm NOT SOCIAL. Also, I'm to develop a better relationship with god. Yeah, I'm an atheist. So that's not happening. And I did point out that I'm anti-social, so even if I believed in god, I'm not looking for any more facebook friends. The third was to become more active outside the home. All three are social commands. I'm not doing any. I guess I'll be thoughtful snacks for the zombies.
Sorry Ben, I know I promised to save you and your family. But you're on your own if the zombies attack.
Today as my students filed out of my last class and I was left alone to look at their work it hit me that I am a truly blessed individual. I am healthy I am happy I am a teacher I am a wife I am a homeowner I am a student I am a woman, I am.
But today I realized that I am exceptionally blessed. I have two sections of seniors whom I love so dearly I sometimes see them as my children. They are respectful and kind, but sassy and punchy in all the right ways. They are creative and brilliant. They are loving and gentle. They are excited and interested. They are patient and curious. They love each other. They love me.
So I'm watching The Rifleman, one of my favourite TV shows and I noticed that the majority of the men in this show are widowers. Which is my favourite type of man. Nice guy, obviously marriage minded, already has a child and no exwife to ruin my life. And I know what you're thinking, "you'll have to live up to a memory and no one does that." Yeah, at some point we will all come in second to a ghost. Second ain't so bad.
Lucas McCain. Upright, stalwart and noble. He lives in a lone prairie house with his young son, Mark. After death of his wife, who is never named nor shown, he moved to the town of Northfork and used his firm but gentle manner to clean up the city. Taming the locals, and even rehabilitating the local drunk, Micah Torrence, to be reborn as the town's marshal. McCain lives a lonely life, but his business as a cattle rancher makes him an active and necessary member of the community.
In this particular episode McCain rescues a man from the road, shot in the back, and takes him to the town's doctor. This man is later found to be a villain, whom even the venerable Micah Torrence abhors. McCain uses his influence to create not sympathy for the undisputed villain but empathy for the process of law. Encouraging the towns folk to refuse the People's Vigilante Committee (a group from another town sent to track him down and return the evil man dead or alive... which in the old west television means DEAD) and stick by the converted Torrence and justice.
I love this show. You should check it out.
Meanwhile I got rid of the bagel.. thank you god. But the spaghetti is here now. Fortunately I have 8 laxatives doing their work inside me. I'm hoping to feel that lovely empty floating feeling tonight and depending on how much I lose I might just treat myself to breakfast tomorrow. pancakes!
So two co-workers came up to me and pretty much save my breakfast!
This morning I was feeling a little good about myself so I went ahead and got a bagel and cream cheese from Dunkin Donuts. Ate it, it was wonderful and I regretted it immediately. I'm still waiting for it to leave while I make dinner for Michael. But as I was leaving Kristin and Leah both told me I needed to gain weight.
This made me think, am I bony? Am I skinny? Am I healthy? Last night I did noticed my grad professor checking me out... not in a good way. He was looking at my collar bone with a very disgusted look on his face. I'm hoping that I will be healthy.
I'm watching Pretty Little Liars (no judging) with my husband (hey, I said no judging) and I just saw that I am skinnier than Spencer Hastings! She's the skinny one on the show! YES!
Why is it that the literature that attracts me the most usually involves the complicated and painful relationships of fathers and sons? I'm neither a father nor a son...and pretty darned sure I'll never be either! Anyway, Big Fish is a fantastic film featuring the complicated relationship of a son trying to reconcile himself to a father he doesn't know.
A few plot points from your friend neighborhood starving girl... The young man grows up at first enamoured with a father who tells tall tales. Unfortunately said young man grows into an adult who can barely tolerate the same story over and over again. Now, we can all relate to this. Frankly, my wonderful husband has told me the story of hearing a young lady (hot woman actually) sing "Black Velvet" at a USO show maybe upwards of 12 times. Every time we hear this song on the radio I know that story is only moments away and brace myself! The son eventually turns from his father, insisting that he knows nothing of the man.
The film is told in duality of the young man learning that his ailing (and dying) father didn't actually lie, but merely added to the truth taking the daily and mundane aspects of life and turning them into something worthy of folklore. The story of the discovery of the son is paralleled by the life story of the father... told with all the wonderful early beauty of Tim Burton. Cliched statements like "time stood still" become a reality as Ewan McGregor walks through a field of frozen popcorn to get a look at the girl that would become his wife. Taking the "road less traveled" turns into a chance to meet "the right place at the wrong time" twice. This film communicates in it's sweet and very understated way that the truth isn't the goal, it's the telling. The son and father are only reconciled as the son realizes that the truth isn't what ties them, it's the telling, the tradition of talking and telling that has linked them.
I cried. What ties me and my dad together... ropes I suppose, other than that, he's Frank, I'm AnneMarie and never the twain shall meet.
Can't wait to be done with my period so I can go back to destroying myself. I want to get this fat out of my body but I don't dare try to do it while I'm already dying. I'm happy that I'm thinner, but it's not enough. I'd like to be 100 by my birthday, then only 4 pounds down to Natalie Portman in Black Swan.
So I got two excellent compliments today!
The first was from a skinny student I had last year, he walked up behind me and said "you're looking pretty skinny Mrs. D" Yeah!
The second was actually funnier. A student I'm pretty close to waited until we were alone in the room and said "so when I met you, you had the biggest double D boobs. Where did they go?" I laughed, and admitted that just this morning I noticed that are nice and smaller! YEAH! It's so great to see my boobs shrinking down to a normal size! They might even be a C or something. People look at ME and talk to ME not to them. It's a beautiful thing. Hooray for life and smaller boobs.
This is easily my favorite show on TV. I don't know if you are into it, but you should check it out. I'm thinking I might write a review of the show just to bore you to tears with.
Finished a piece of cheescake with Michael. I had just flushed everything out of my body a few minutes prior. It felt good to finally get empty, but I'm still waiting for my period to be over so I can really feel good. My body is conspiring against me by keeping a reserve of protein and blood so I won't faint and die during this week. As soon as it's over I'll feel fantastic... and hopefully be 105!
Just think, ten more pounds and I'll be at my lifetime goal!
I want to disappear into the snow. This winter will never end. We are doomed. We are all doomed. This white cold hell is drown us all. I miss my empty feeling. Michael is sitting dead center of the living room playing a marathon of MLB video game. He rests between me and the purse. I'm going to have to bit the bullet and grab some. Thankfully he usually isn't that interested in what I put in my body. And completely ignores what comes out of it.
Winter can't last, but this can. I can't last, but winter will.
I want to get in a rented car this summer and drive to the grand canyon. I want to put my bike in the back and just drive to a series of national parks. Camp, bike ride, fish and cook out. Just go out for it and have a blast looking at the country by experiencing it. Just driving through the country and discovering it.
Ugh, got my period. So I'm bloated and eating to keep my blood supply up. I can't wait until I'm so teeny I don't get my period any longer. I almost hit 105 this cycle, and will definitely hit it this next cycle. I'm a little bummed out that I'm not going to be 105 by tomorrow. That's the first day of Spring. But I'm really really close, got myself down to 106 before I swelled up to 108 like a big fucking elephant. It'll come of once I'm done. Then 105, and I can concentrate on my new goal of 100 for summer! Hooray!
How much more winter can we take? Every time we get close to having the snow melt and hope for Spring we get another storm dumped on us. I know that summer will be here soon enough but it just doesn't feel like it. It feels like this is a little ice age. It feels like this is the "summer" before the French Revolution.. yes, I'm that nerdy.
I'm bloated and cranky and feeling fat. But at least I'm not hungry. Actually I haven't felt hungry all day. That's a little weird to me, but it's also probably just me being annoyed... and hopefully I've finally convinced my brain I don't need food.
So department meeting was torturous today. Got to sit around listening to a bunch of ugly fatties squawk about how kids read "crap" and nothing good. I mean, is there really something sooooo terrible about a person reading a book that they enjoy? Hey, I was 106 this morning. I can't complain.
Food check in:
Breakfast: toast and tea
Lunch: apple and yogurt
Dinner: nothing, too fucking annoyed to eat.
Hopefully a snow day tomorrow so I can just relax and watch my all time favorite terrible movie: The Stand!
So now I'm all upset and annoyed and ready to destroy myself. Let the binging begin!
I've got two bags of jellybeans, two small packets of rolos, two slices of cheese cake with cheery, and a lemon burst square. I'm making Shepard's pie as we speak (or don't speak really). Okay, into my body all of this is going to go but don't worry before hand I'm going to plow down like ten laxatives. I can't stand my family. Just leave me the hell alone. I weigh what I weigh. You weigh what you weigh. What really kills me is that all through my childhood and teen years my mom was up my ass about how fat I was. I wasn't fat, but I was chubby. I've always had huge boobs and an ass. But that was always bad. So now I am working to shrink and all of the sudden that's bad. Fucking make up your mind mom! In any case, too late, I like being little. I intend to be tiny.
Going to visit with my parents. Hoping to avoid as much food as possible while there. These people LOVE eating, but they are little little people. What I do love is that my mother is more of a tea addict than me. Tee-hee! So I can possibly get away with a cup of tea and piece of toast.
Wish me luck.
So here's a weird question for the vampires reading this... but first let me set up the story.
Recently, I've begun to slowly eat my way to thinny. It's entirely possible. Most of the body building vanity muscles are formed in the kitchen, not the gym. I have a beginning of a six pack and TRUST me I do not do crunches. In fact I'm a little upset about it. I do not want a six pack, that's the opposite of the look I'm going for. I want to look delicate and a six pack ain't delicate! Anyway, raw vegan diet during the work week. About 60% of what I eat... actually it's probably 75%, is raw and vegan. My breakfasts are toast and tea, so not vegan and not raw. But what I eat during the day is. Apples, carrots, plums (just tried a lemon plum, BTW, delicious! was dinner last night) and a yogurt. Now the yogurt is Greek and have 0 fat, but lots of protein. I have to keep my protein up as I'm falling asleep here!
This morning I had an Acai berry and chocolate protein shake. It was good, I won't lie most of the vegan processed foods are bland and uninteresting, but it was goodish. But it was made from Hemp Protein. So two questions... A. What the hell is that? B. Will I pop positive?
Okay, well, since it's 8:36 I'll say "nighty nighty" to the vampires. Have a good day's sleep.
I'm not a good snack. In fact I think you guys can do much, MUCH, better than me. I'd be like a sip, frankly I'm a shot glass really. I mean, I'm not a fat chick pretending to be anorexic for attention. I'm a skinny chick starving herself to death because I want to experience that beautiful empty feeling into the grave. So, dearly nearly departed vampires thank you, but search elsewhere.
Unless you want not-eating tips, at which point, you are in the right place. I talk a great game about getting healthy, and eating right so I can have a dog and blah blah blah... I'm working on another 10 pounds. I'm hoping to reach 100 lbs by my birthday. At which point I'm going to stop losing weight, just like I stopped when I hit 110, and before then when I stopped at 120 and when I hit my first goal of 130. I'm never going to be happy with what I look like, and that's not really the point. It's not about how I look. It's about how I feel inside and I feel weighed down, I feel heavy and slow. I feel like my craptastic dying body is killing me. When I feel empty, I feel light and dizzy. I can feel the blood rushing about, and my heart fluttering. I feel alive, but like I'm putting a toe out the door and I like that feeling. I want to feel it all the time. I don't care about my bones and how much it hurts to sit or kneel, or to get a hug. I don't care that my cat left a bruise last time she sat on my lap. I want to feel empty forever.
