Goals

To update; I did finally manage to calm down last night, although it took forever.
Blogging proved to be quite cathartic though, and major thanks to Ancora and Athanasy for your helpful and supportive comments, love you guys to bits! <3

Despite no sleep and feeling utterly shitty, I also passed an oral exam today - but it was rather gruesomely embarrassing, I only just made it by a narrow margin.
Did I feel relieved when it was done with, anyway?

Let me put it like this - say you spend several months being brutally tortured in a dungeon by some absolutely merciless abomination straight from the depths of hell; you might rightfully abound in joy when you are finally freed and the entire ordeal is over.
Much more likely though, you will be too scarred and traumatised by the experience to feel any relief at all - and that was what that exam felt like.

(obligatory PC addendum: I am not a complete moron, and I do realize no actual real-life torture experience compares to something as trite and mundane as an exam. I'm doing this for comedic hyperbole, obviously - and because, in my crazy pathetic mind, it really felt THAT bad to get another chance to show myself just how much of a worthless worthless loser I really am.)

Anyway, I digress, so on the topic of goals:

I want to be carful about setting them weight-wise - disappointment is already a major theme in my wretched little brain, and I don't want to set myself up for more of the same.

Still, there is this:
In less than a month, less than three weeks really, I will be attending a concert of a band I adore.
I happen to have reasonable cause to suspect, nay fear, that this concert might also be attended by The Coward, the Boy That I Still Long For Despite Knowing That I REALLY Shouldn't.

And his new girlfriend, of course.

From what I hear through mutual friends, they never do anything separately anymore.
So if either of them is there, the other will be.

And then I will be meeting a personalized nightmare of loss and rejection in double force, instead of enjoying a relaxing evening where I shut everything out of my brain except for the music.

The thing is (and I use that phrase way too often lately), that I know weight is pretty much the one issue where I can get to her.

I happen to know that she is equally messed up as I am in the food department, that weight and clothes sizes hold the same morbid appeal for her, and that she defines herself, much as I do, through the space that is or isn't visible between her thighs.

So of course, the petty bitter side of me dictates that I have to be super skinny, that I have to fuel her insecurities by nourishing my own, that I have to beat her at being thin at least if I can't beat her at winning his love.

If I have to run the risk of running into her, into them, then I would love for her to be shocked and envious at the sight of me.
I know that I am grasping for straws and that my attempt at physical superiority to her is petty; but that's what you would expect from a bitter person, it's the best I can do.

I am unsure what my goal for those three weeks should be though, how much I would want to have lost by then.
I'm out of touch with what is even realistic, what I am actually capable of achieving.

So, I think I'm going to give it a few more days, see how I'm doing and where I'm at, then try to decide what goal would be achievable and sufficient for my petty revenge.

Operation Skinny For The Wrong Reasons starts tomorrow... (There's always another reason to starve, isn't there? And right now I'm damn glad about it, I need incentive to stay on track; I could pretty much use incentive for a lot of things these days.)

Positive Thought of the Day:

I absolutely adore the girl I'm stealing for today's picture, her outlandish glamorousness, her almost inhumane body posture in that glittering suit - very David Bowie Ziggy-Stardust-era; also reminds me of the foam-spilling poise of his alien character in The Man Who Fell to Earth in a way.

(Bowie himself never seems to eat, does he? Certainly didn't during the seventies, when he lived on "red peppers, milk and cocaine"...
Alas, that doesn't really seem like a recommendable long-term plan either.... still, I wouldn't mind to posses the otherworldly razor-blade-ish grace of the Thin White Duke.)

Cal count standing at 550 and I'm actually going to bed now, because I feel like a walking trainwreck - so that's quite agreeable!

Ineffectual Musings

Perfection... I've always been obsessed with that little world, and I know I am far far from alone in that.

It is often curious to me why human beings work the way we do, and why that little word holds so much power over us.

How it is that the concept of perfection can motivate us so much, elevate us, crush us, excite us.

How the thought, that every little part, every centimeter of our bodies, minds, even souls could be perfect, seems so liberating and promising, and daunting all at once.

Still, it is all that sustains me often.

My life is far from perfect right now.
My flat isn't perfect - it's a bloody mess.
My mind isn't perfect - it is equally messed up.
My "career prospects" aren't perfect - I am letting it all go to hell, and I'm not even sure I have chosen the right direction with what I'm doing at uni.
My "love life" isn't perfect - I am still painfully in love with a boy who doesn't even deserve it, King of Cowards that he is.

And finally, my body isn't perfect - it is farther from perfection than it ever was.

I dare not even step on the scales at this moment, but I reckon (and I am an unfortunately gifted soothsayer in that regard) it might be as high as 60kg, 132 lbs, a BMI of a square and scary 20 (defined, of course, as perfectly "normal and healthy for your age". Blech. Whoever comes up with these definitions obviously hasn't seen the state of my thighs. Or my behind for that matter.).

60kg would be the absolute highest I have weighed since the day I was born, and I swear I'm going to die if it goes any higher than this right now.
I need to regain control but I am struggling, pitifully, to rediscover any fragment of my former strength, any semblance of my old composure.

And yet, amidst all this chaos, I hope and dream of a state where perfection can be attained.
No matter how unrealistic it may seem - if I didn't cling to the abstract hope that perfection was possible, I would have thrown in the towel on life long ago.

It is all that keeps me from giving up when submerged in the darkest, dankest recesses of my personal Void... the possibility of perfection.

PS: re: first picture - that sunrise, on that day, was perfection to me.
Nothing quite like watching the sun rise from aboard a boat...

The girl below, of course, displays a different form of perfection. And yet she seems so forlorn - the atmosphere in that image is pretty much how I'm feeling right now, so I like it.