Usually, the first thought that comes into mind when I wake up is, "Shit. I'm late." Not today. I woke up (late as usual), but with an agenda. I washed up and changed into running gear and started with a slow jog down the stairs and to the park. Now I'm back and I've decided that Sugarcult's 'Memory' makes a good running song.
And I've also decided that I still detest running but I need to face the demons in order to lose weight, right?
I have a touch of PMS, which means:
I'm bloated.
I feel fat.
I don't feel beautiful.
Did I mention FAT?!
And at 23 (coming), I still have a hell lot of teenage angst. Whoever told me I was beautiful? You're full of crap. I looked into the mirror today and it struck me that fat can never be beautiful. Everything associated with 'Skinny' is cool and sells. Ever heard of people buying 'Fatties'??? No! Everyone wants a pair of 'Skinnies', in every shade possible.
Today's one of those days I can't find anything to wear, everything makes my stomach stick out, my already big thighs huge and bigger than Mount Everest and my breasts feel compressed; like your face pressed against the glass door in a crowded train. Add to that the fact that I have been screwing up my body alarm and kept semi-conscious for the past few nights for fear of menstruation leaking unto the mattress.
This may never start.
We could fall apart
And I'd be your memory.
I'm sitting here, still clad in my running gear and I smell the sweat. Skinny people perspire - fat people sweat.
I can never get bored of writing to nobody.
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