R	Rich
A	Astounding
I	Innocent
N	Natural
S	Skillful
I	Intelligent
N	Nutty
G	Glorious
E	Elitist
R	Rounded

Name / Username:

Name Acronym Generator
From Go-Quiz.com

which yields altogether more promising results than Nina (dubbed as nerdy and neurotic by the acronym thang).

Defeated by my bank balance and the contents of the fridge I had decided to subsist on bread and water (and perhaps claiming moral superiority through pretending to be an ascetic) until my mother came and started cooking on Monday (also the happy day on which I get my salary), but my sister rang instead and offered to nurture and feed me instead. I hope she is rewarded with much good karma.

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On another note, I got all active and gave my pictures to be developed. I have the feeling that a few of them will be like: *See that brown blob in that tree? That's a koala.* - but we'll see.

The colour of Tuesday mornings is cornflower blue, shot through in places by threads of silver and ultramarine.

I'm back in that particular place of not liking my body and not wanting to eat.

On good days I can see my body as a whole. I can see that yes, I am curvy but I am well proportioned- my body is not deformed, it flows nicely and while it may not be put together according to the beauty ideal I like it. Which doesn't mean there are things I wouldn't change but on the whole I feel at peace.

On bad days I see body in terms of its parts and I look grotesque, I feel fat and huge.

And I've realised I'm starting to go back to the place of not wanting to eat. Of not being able to face the thought of cooking food, of having to chew on things.

It's been happening a while where the things I normally really like eating such as cheese feel too heavy and I have an urge to consume only fruit and water.

Soups are okay. Because soups don't feel like eating.

Eating for me is complex and multi-layered. I was a huge binge eater in my late teens but I let go of that when I went to University and there was no longer anyone who wanted to ban me from eating or monitor my food intake. To comment on the calorific value of the things in my plate and lecture on cholesterol and unattractiveness.

My diet is pretty good on the whole. Because of the PCOS and the insulin intolerance and raised blood glucose I watch what I eat because I do not want to get diabetes. That's a very strong motivating factor for me, something that I don't want to manifest so much that it's made me turn in the other direction- of not eating (because I'd sooner have my blood sugar be too low than too high).

There is a strong correlation between my moods and my desire (or lack thereof) to eat. When I'm happy then I'm hungry and I love food. But when I feel more down, more subdued then I don't want to eat. As though not eating would make my body feel gentler, purer - fill it with light and air.

Food tastes grey or muddy dark red. It tastes like mist and sadness and wrath.

When I am alone, I have a tendency to live like a refugee. As in, eat, sleep, work in one room. Usually a small space. Until my mother got here for a visit I slept on the living room floor in a sleeping bag. I haven't cooked in weeks. I live off yoghurts and crackers and bottled water, or any crisps/biscuits I realise I have lying around the house.

Perhaps it is because in small spaces I feel safe. They are womb like. Protected. A shell into which i can withdraw. ANd it is amazing the places in which I can find comfort.

About two years ago we were putting in wooden floors into the little room and that room was a hazard. It was little to start with and all the furniture was rolled into whhever half was not worked on, and the floor was full of dust and shaving and splinters and whatever tools were being used to cut carpet and remove existing flooring. I slept underneath perilously stacked books and chairs, on a patch of newly laid boards that was barely the width of my body and I slept for nights in a sleeping bag on my side (the works had paused) and somehow at the time, this was really soothing.

The living room is like a scrapyard.It was messier before my mother got here. I need to sort myself out. I need to clean. I need to start doing the little rituals of human existence such as putting on my pyjamas and washing up dishes and washing my hair. Making tea. Having a hot meal. Opening mail and reading it.But I don't want to. It feels like too much effrt somehow.
Even the simplest things. Somedays having a bath and putting on my clothes feels like the ultimate in achievement and self-discipline.

I hate that.

But today I have a busy day and I shall get things done. I shall I shall I shall.

*kicks self to mtivate self to get a move on*

When I was spending weekend with mate he kept commenting on how little I eat. I don't think I eat little. I think he eats a lot.

I think of myself as a glutton, I have this perception that I am eating all the time and it kind of suprises me when i notice that I am losing weight. I think I may have gone down another clothing size or am well on that route.

I feel horrible when I eat. And on days like today, when it feels like all I've done is eat I really hate it. I wasn't even hungry. More nervous and unhappy and bored and eating just seemed like a good idea at the time. Because I feel almost constantly queasy nowadays, and the taste of food helps mask that for a while.

Three slices of cheese. Three slices of bread one of them with butter. A piece of fatty fish. Three fruit yoghurts. Two biscuits. I just see it as this mound of sugar and calories and carbs looming large and threatening in my brain. I don't know how much said articles of food have calories but it's about twice as much as I felt comfortable eating.

Food feels really bad.
For once this is not so much about fat as the fact that in my head food seems bad.
And that eating makes me a bad person somehow.
That I am wrong for doing it.

Without food my body feels calmer, cleaner, purer. Less weighed down with stuff and itself.

I'm remembering a lot and some of it is difficult processing. How food was used to shut me up and as a manipulative emotional tool by my grandmother. To show love and hierarchy. The food chain. Those she loved got the best pieces of what she cooked. Those she didn't love got the scraps.

I remember a time when my grandmother pounced on the piece of meat on my mother's plate and snatched it from her shouting: *Witch! You took the best piece for yourself!* as though this was a crime, even if it were true. I remember my father walked away from the table. But I didn't. I just ate what was there.

I remember when I was twelve and first came to live with my aunt who decided I was too fat and put me on strictly rationed portioned out food. One slice of marble cake or two slices of french bread with ham for breakfast. At each communal mealtime a portion allocated to everybody in accordance to how thin or fat they were.

I remember eating secretly for years, from the age of about 12 to 17 and how dirty it made me feel but how I also didn't stop it. It was something hidden and shameful and helplessly alluring, like masturbation. To feel good was to be bad. And I ate, hid food and ate as though I was seeking something intangible or trying to fill some great void inside myself.

Most of the times when I eat, it feels as though it is not food but some pollutant I am ingesting.

Hatred and fear and secrets and lies.

Went to a cool astrology seminar thing, and job thing next Wednesday. Positive because it gives my life some semblance of moving along.

Coming out of the seminar today there was a fire near it, and lots of noise and confusion and the smell of smoke that gets me still. But before things combusted I had a stroll around St. James' market and bought a yellow and orange wall hanging.

It is patchwork, made from fire-coloured sari pieces and beaded in places. I got it for Yugoslavia since the walls are so completely bare and I hope it will cheer me up, with the bright loveliness of its colours. My mother I think, will hate it though, I can already hear her voice in my head. It is very gaudy.

Although I like Nance's sleek minimalist approach to interior decorating after a while there is just something in me that starts to yearn for colour. Especially bold, bright, colours and spangly beads. Probably the Gypsy gene.

My joints ache, the weather has been nasty. I think the narrow street the flat looks out on makes a wind tunnel because it sounds like we are in the middle of a raging hurricane. I like wind noises. I find them oddly soothing (as I do lots of other things people usually hate like ticking watch and dripping water noises). They remind me of Yugoslavia, and the howling winter/autumn wind which we call koshava.

My hands hurt however, which there is little help for except in whinging. My knuckles are swollen, the right wrist is too stiff to move properly.

I'm taking metformin again, because the other thing they gave me is too disguisting for words. (Metformin or Glucophage is meant to be helping my body with the digestion of sugar in order to counterbalance the insulin resistance that goes hand in hand with PCOS). It leaves a nasty aftertaste but at least it no longer makes me nauseaous (even though I've started at the lowest dose, and will need to work towards doubling it) although it gives me fairly horrific abdominal pains and stomach cramps. These should ease after a week or so when my body adjusts (all being well).

I've lost quite a bit of weight since October at least 10 pounds which impressed my endo to no end since weight loss is so difficult to initiate and maintain with my metabolism. My BMI has gone down a notch to 25.2 although I am meant to aim to lose ten more pounds by June. I don't really think in terms of physical wieght (don't own a pair of scales, they depress me to no end) but I keep seeing the difference in my clothes which I keep needing to mend and alter and take in at the sides.

Part of the reason why I'm back on metformin is to hopefully help my body lose weight and kickstart my exceedingly sluggish metabolism into some form of action, although I also wish this did not have to involve hours of me going *Dear God, please let me die. Thank you.*

According to the practice nurse, I have shrunk 2 cm and gained 10 pounds. my BMI is probably going up through the roof. at this rate, i will be obese soon. woo hooo.

although i am a tad suspicious about some of those numbers (weight is probably right, my metabolism has been fucked about with and i've got a period) but I am outraged at having shrunk. especially since when i was getting emasured a few weeks ago in yugoslavia i was 173 cm tall.

hmmmm.

i am fuming. i may not ask for much in my life but I would like those centimentrs back now please. i feel quite cheated.

livemeat's belief that maths is pants is appealing to me more and more every day. ;)

last night i went to my third mother's for affection and feeding. my first mother is the one whom i belong to biologically. the second one was Ivana, the woman who I lived with in HOlland for a while and who did look after me like her own child. My third mother is B, she is a recent addition mostly because she is childless and i really like her and have been looking for someoen to adopt me for a few years now.

(although I also have a spiritual mother though she hasnt been saddled with looking after me yet ;) )

B is a cool woman. She is a Yug, but she is quite liberal and very relaxed. she is a therapist who works with troubled children and refugees. i am neither exactly, but apparently i am easy to look after and she likes having me around. i like being around her as she is very nurturing wihtout being possessive or obsessive. and since I really wasnt looking after myself getting someone else to do it for a little bit was a good idea.

also because at her house there was a kitten :D not her kitten, B and the kitten are in a state of disagreement regarding the wrongfulness of eating of plants and jumping around on the kitchen surfaces and so on, she is just looking after it for a few weeks until the owners get back.

the kitten is adorable though :D really, more of an adolescent cat i suppose, but cute and smart and silky soft. a very clever and inventive cat as can be clearly seen from its vengeful and malicious streak.

the kitten and i also had a disagreement early on about scratching and biting that was resolved fairly well with *you scractch or bite me and i will thwack you on the head*. the kitten has quite a character, it is also bouncy and way full of energy. it seems to have just discovered jumping and from time to time it will take off and run around the house. (also attempt to leap onto every single surface it can reach. including hanging from my trouser leg)

the little bastard is very cute even though he did chew through the wire and amputate one of the earphones from my cd player.

He purrs like a tractor. Seriously. I have never heard such a loud purr from such a small cat. (somewhat akin to tiny human babies belching like truckers post meal. it was cool because i was feeling all piney without a cat and i got him to play with for a night.

He slept with me for most of the night. The first couple of times he gave me a start because there was this little thing dropping on me in the pitch black like a ton of bricks. He'd walk around for a while, try to sit on my shoulder or my hip, attempt to eat my hair and eventually curl up around my neck or some other body part. and purr. and purr. and purrr.

it was loooooooooooovely.

my stomach and lower back were both seriously hurting last night but the kitten tended to curl up near a painful area and the pain would go away. i've noticed this with fiendly animals. they radiate a lovely warm energy, and will often seek out and plant themselves wherever the source of pain/weakness is and feed me sweet helpful vibes.

i felt so loved up in the morning that it reduced the prolonged trauma of travelling by the underground at rush hour, compounded by the horror of travelling anywhere on the northern line and the shock of having gotten shorter and fatter.

yaaargggh.