Skinny Love: Tilda Swinton and an update

So, I am really, really not fond of myself today, and that's kind of an understatement.

To give you all the quick version: I did well on the abc for an almighty four days (yeah, really long, that), and then screwed up majorly with a HUGE binge yesterday (or huh-yooge, as Stephen King would say).

I don't even want to go into the sordid details of how and why it happened - yes, there were certain circumstances, and if I wanted to indulge myself I could go ahead and blame it on other people, on the particular situation, on the fact that I'm on my period and so on and so on.

But, we all know that sort of thing is deceiving yourself in a cowardly fashion - if I slip up and binge it is my own failure, a lapse in my self control, and no one else can be held accountable.

Oh well.
I got up at five thirty today and started the day with a run and a little weight lifting work-out afterwards, so at least that's making me feel good about myself.

Not so good is the fact that I'm invited to my parents for lunch today, so even if I wanted to pick up at day five again, I don't think I'll manage the 100 cal limit.
Perhaps if I add the burnt-off exercise calories, though...

In any case, in the spirit of not liking myself, I have decided to shift my blogging focus to other people for a change - no fun in talking about yourself all the time, right?

So, I've decided to declare this "Skinny Love" month, and do a mini-series of posts on people that fulfill the following set of criteria:

A) They inspire me in some artistic fashion, be it through their music, their style, their image, through writing or acting or any other creative pursuit, or simply through the entire concept and presentation of their persona.

And B) They are, in keeping with the obsession theme of this blog, visually inspiring to me by being thin or in other words, skinny.

(You are, of course, welcome to take up and participate in this idea if you find it amusing; I'm not running a trade-mark on it anytime soon, ha.
In fact, I'd be curious to know - which skinny minnies happen to have been inspirational to you, dear readers?)

Starting with: La incredible Swinton.










I absolutely love her as an actress - she embodies my every definition of "ethereal" with effortless poise - otherworldly, detached, incomprehensible and infinitely graceful beyond mundane definition, simply and utterly other.

And that photo-shoot she did a good while back for Another Magazine?
I can't even say enough about how she looks in those pictures above, how eternal and perfect, like a statue flawlessly set into stone, a monument of grace and beauty and dignity and spirit.

Where being thin is concerned, I don't even picture her as a person who purposefully tries to maintain or achieve this as a goal.

Much rather, if I had to guess, I'd picture her as someone who simply doesn't have food as a large part of life on their agenda, whose mind is too busy with ideas and their realization to ever think about eating in an active manner; someone who might often forget to eat, if not by chance reminded, while immersed in an other and inspirational part of existence that revolves around things untouched by the trivial absorption of calories into the body.

And that's the kind of ethereal we'd all like to be, aye?

PS: Have a happy Easter, everyone...

Sunday's rant: Springtime Folly

Yesterday ended, inexplicably, with the late night consumption of an innocent Chocolate Easter Bunny in all it's obscenely delicious, golden tin-foil wrapped glory.
However, I've decided not to be hung up about this - the mere existence of chocolate bunnies is a sign of spring-time after all, and I do love springtime, I can only repeat myself in that regard.

Besides, today's the first day of my scheduled abc run anyway - meaning there won't be a whole lot of Easter Bunnies waiting for me in the coming 50 days, so crying over split (chocolate) milk is even less appropriate.

In the spirit of the hands-on, life-affirming approach I seem to have adopted just this minute, I went out and took a picture of a cutsie little trias of crocus blossoms sitting on the patch of grass outside my building:


Awwwww.

All right, enough with the pretty flowers already, I'll tell you straight away that the rest of this post is going to be nauseatingly boy-centric.

(You have now been warned and have had a fair chance to get the hell out of here & run for the hills - as bitching about the same boy over and over and over again is so last decade, I swear I wouldn't even blame you...)

Because - The Coward is still on my mind.

He isn't even my ex, per se - although he certainly is an ex friend by now.
We'd already known each other for two years when things started getting out of hand, and it has to be admitted that I used to have a thing for him pretty much from the start, while also suspecting, with moderately justified reason, that he might be having a bit of a thing for me, too.

Then, at a fateful party, he started flirting with me like there was no tomorrow (and I'm not making this up to minimize my own responsibility, I swear - although I do happen to posses a button with the slogan "That pig seduced me!" printed on it, and it would come in handy right now.)

I myself, of course, was anything but discontent with that turn of events.

As a consequence, we ended up having a thing together right then and there, with emotional and physical bonding running high for a few blissful hours and a dreamy morning beyond, and a dance of awkwardness and trying-to-play-it-cool with purposefully vague accounts on what this was supposed to mean between us running high afterwards.

Then, things got ugly.

Basically, he is a stupid douche-bag, who is too much of a coward to be honest with people to their face, instead opting to hurt them and lead them on and break their heart with lies, all so that he can avoid confrontation, avoid feeling guilty.

And I made it easy for him, tremendously easy - I asked him straight to the face, hell I practically begged him, time and time again, to just be straight with me, just be honest.
To tell me, honestly, whether he cared or whether he didn't, whether there was a chance for us or not.
"Hey, if you don't, I can take it - I won't cry, I won't hate you, I'm not one to make a scene. I just need to know where I stand!"

And he said that he did, that there was.
Despite it all being filthy lies.

"You don't have to lie to me, really, just don't. I want the truth for once, please, give me the straight dope. If you don't want me, say so now, so I'll have a chance to make a fresh start."

But he didn't. He said I was wrong in assuming he didn't care. That I'd never be just any girl to him, just any friend.

He kept leading me on, kept my hopes alive through well placed words and endless reassurances of his feelings for me, his concern.
"You matter to me, don't ever think otherwise... it's just so... complicated right now..." Yeah right.

Like hell it's complicated, you cavorting around with that clingy little trollop, the one without a shred of self-esteem, who depends on a man for her every identity, her every validation.
Totally helpless without you... I know some boys dig that sort of thing, perhaps... but really? You sure? That's your thing?

But then why not say so, why not answer truthfully to my questions, why not save me the endless disgrace of trying to win you over, the shame of hoping, of trying and failing to change your mind.

Cruel, is what he is.
And yet I keep on "loving" him, desiring him, without sense or reason.

I am a hopeless case.

It has reached ridiculous levels, where his so-called girlfriend puts up all these profile pics of them cuddling, kissing or doing whatever together on various social sites, and I can hardly bear to look at them, not because I am jealous, but simply because every single sight of his perfect face sets my heart a-racing.

Ri - di - cu - lous.

And the girl, she is so effing ugly no matter at what angle or weight.
I'm not just making this up because I'm a raving, jealous bitch - although I certainly am.

She is seriously bad looking, and the biggest factor in this is her "charisma", the constant expression on her face that conveys "I need to perpetually reassert my self worth by putting down others, so that I can feel most special when indeed I am as insecure as the next person, probably more - and I revel in that paradox".

It's a fiasco of a sham, the fact that I am in love with someone who is love with a girl like that instead.