Tuesday, 9 March 2010

'It's a very.... fascinating lifestyle!'

I enjoy the things that people say, when they're uncomfortable. I go through phases where I basically LIVE to make people uncomfortable- where I put them on the spot and see what saying certain things will do. Be tolerant of me, with my 'fascinating' life I have to get my kicks where I can, hahaha. I'm not really in one of those phases right now, I'm far too fukmalyf to mess with people's heads. HAI MIZZ DEPRESSO. But hey, sometimes the opportunity just presents itself, and who'm I to fight opportunity? (I feel I should stick in some inspirational quote or other, about wasting opportunities. Well, not wasting them. You know what I mean. But I sodding hate inspirational quotes, I like good quotes about LIFE and that. Well, I like quotes from shit on the Disney Channel, anyway.) I couldn't work out whether it would be a little too confrontational to thrust more knowledge about my LIFESTYLE on my dentist today. I mean, he knows what you can put on paper. That is to say, what you can put on official papers- diagnoses, basic facts and a few of the psychological bits, taken purely out of context. Liiiiiiiiike so, an example of that is how 'Well, I know I'm not FAT-FAT. I mean, right, I know I'm not overweight, because overweight is a techincal point, it's a precise weight and I know that no matter how I look, I don't actually weigh the amount that would make me overweight. But then... is fat overweight? No, I don't think it is. It's not even connected- you're not necessarily fat, just because you're overweight, but I AM fat, and I'm not overweight, and...' becomes on paper, 'Rebecca obsesses over her weight and is convinced she is fat'. I'm like a poor misunderstood politician ;)

Sometimes, though. Oh, sometimes I want to be like- YES, it's fascinating. It's so INTERESTING to live everyday the exact same and to have no idea how to break out of the whole Groundhog Day jobby. I don't work, I'm so LAZY, I'm LUCKY, I have it so EASY. Today has been so FASCINATING.

Alarm goes off at half 8, but I stay in bed for as long as it takes for Momma Ginge to have left for work. I haven't the energy to see her- never in the morning and today is no different. No day is ever different. I feel disgusting and I'm not capable of human interaction because I am NOT human- I'm a (large, granted) mass of cells, mostly contaminated with dodgy disorder-y parts. Get up. Shouldn't eat. Well no, I have to eat, I'm never going to get better if I don't eat but TODAY I shouldn't eat, not until after I've been to the dentist because GOD FORBID he should see any indication that I eat, in my mouth. If he knows I eat, then... DUNDUNDUN. I obviously don't EVER eat, check out my bod-ay. Hahahahaha. Oh, but noooo- SHIT, my head is down the toilet. Oh HOW INTERESTING, I just ate, I must have done. Nomnomnom, what is IN that sick? What the shit have I just eaten? I don't remember... OH WOW, head back down the toilet. Balls, half an hour to get rid of any evidence in my mouth. Thrilling morning GONE.

Done at the dentist, walking home with James. And I itch. I itch everywhere and I have nervous energy and... oh! I'm starting to get the pre-panic attack feeling and I just can't really be arsed, so it's a bloody good job James walks so quickly- I can match his pace and just get home as quickly as. Now the REALLY exciting part- trying to find money, to buy food. There has got to be SOME bloody money, somewhere. Oh now this IS fascinating- it's like a wildlife documentary (I never got what was so fascinating about them, but let's go with it), all the scrambling about and the feralness of the concept- full on hunter/gatherer, that's what I am. £1.80. With that I can buy 4 packets of super-cheapo Custard Creams, which should just about satisfy me for half an hour. I'll worry about my next hit later. Oooh, quick vomit before we go and... time to shop.

Quick check of the ATM aaaaand... somehow, there's some money! EXCELLENT. Screw you £1.80 and Custard Creams. Straight in, buy... 12" pizza (crap cheese kills me inside), 3 Easter Eggs (I hate chocolate), toffee cake (bleugh), chocolate custard (custard should be plain or banana flavoured.... And banana is only acceptable because it tastes like Calpol, nomnom), a box of Lion ice cream bars (lions are good, I am a lion), 2 litres of ice cream (ice cream= bad, but easy. Easy easy easy), a big bag of crisps, 2 bars of chocolate and some Cherryade. Cherryade is good, it makes for excellent vom', but the rest... food is hiiiiideous, and we must keep it supersupersuper hideous to ensure there is no possible enjoyment in the whole affair. And there isn't. Coupla hours later, lots of sick and NO FOOD LEFT. OHDEAROHNOOHDEAR, back to the shop. No wait, hang on, stop. No more, must be sensible and sane and happy and sane and sensible and happy and sensible and sane and HEALTHY. DUM-de-DUM. Twiddle thumbs. Itchy skin, itchy feet, itc- and the fingers are in and the head is down and the sick is out. And the bank is empty.

And there's the shop, and... wait. No. There's half a cake and, no, hang on... No cake. Partially disgested cake. Bit of blood, but- oooh, no. Toast. Sodding chocolate and the bathroom, and- it's almost midnight.

Wow, my lifestyle IS fascinating.

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