A Report On The Series of Events Which Comprised my Day

At 1pm, on Wednesday 19th November, I was awoken by my friend Grace's sudden appearance in my bedroom. I got out of bed, and we both agreed that my pyjamas were awesome. Zebra print trousers, yeah? So she went downstairs, I got dressed, and got a cup of coffee, and we sat and did crossword puzzles. When we had completed all of the puzzles we could, and I had finished my coffee, I went to clean my teeth and fetch my handbag, and then we walked to Tesco, where Grace bought sirloin steak and Finest* Light Coleslaw and I bought a Finest* Belgian chocolate cake and a bottle of wine. We walked home, taking a nice route which led us on a little track by some pretty stone houses. When we reached home, we washed our hands, and Grace set about cutting the steak in half so we could each have a piece. She decided to cut it in half flatways, making two thin steaks instead of one thick one. Or at least, that was the aim; we actually got one thin steak and one selection of butchered beef slices. So we cooked the steak, nice and rare, and in the process, a large glob of sizzling oil leapt from the frying pan and landed right on the end of my nose! Man, that stung. Eventually, we sat down to our nice meal. It was delicious, and by the time we got to dessert, we were both rather tipsy and playing notes on a wineglass. At this moment, the doorbell rang, and it was the postman with a parcel for me to sign for. Inside this innocuous white parcel, were two bottles of Benylin non-drowsy dry cough medicine. Now I decided that it was a good idea for me to get high. I ran and fetched my half dose of Hawaiian Baby Woodrose seeds. I washed down the seeds with wine and slugs of cough syrup, obscuring their bitter taste with the sumptuous flavour of chocolate cake. Before long I was dancing around to the Beatles' Strawberry Fields Forever. Soon, my mum got home from work and quickly figured that I was 'drunk'. Grace's mum drove up in her minibus and agreed to give me a lift to Belper to go see Alex and Jess. I never actually got to see those two people.
Left in Belper, I went to the shop for cigarettes before heading to King Street. And there, I found Maddy, a shocked girl with her little finger hanging at a right angle to her hand. It was so broken. I offered to go with her to Ripley A&E but she decided against that, so instead we went to Morrisons and I bought her some tape. She taped up her fingers, and later had some fun playing with a reel of surgical tape. Right now we walked up Belper, smoking. We eventually met Ozzy, Jake and Beardy, among other people, and we stood around outside the Memorial Gardens trying to find out who in Belper had any weed. I seemed to be the only person in the group with any credit, so this ringing round of every known dealer was mostly done on my phone. After getting no luck, we drifted up to the Market Place and the Local shop. Outside here, we collected a bigger selection of people: Dan, Collyer, Christian Swann, Ezra, Jonathon, Dukes, Archie, and more people whose names I don't know. We were all looking proper shady, standing around on the Marketplace and trying to sort out some weed. We were there for about two hours before something was tracked down in Derby, and I got into a car with Maddy and other people, and went to Derby. We drove around Derby until we found Normanton. There, we realised that there was no space in the car for the dealer to sit and sort our stuff out. So I moved from the middle seat to the boot. I lay back, smoking a fag which somebody had generously provided, and felt beautifully cozy and relaxed. After a length of time, driving around and general waiting about, the always-delicate 'take the chick out of the car boot' procedure was performed, and I was back in place in the middle of the back seat. So spliff was smoked, and once we got back to Belper and got a scales, amounts were weighed out and distributed amongst the crowds.
We stayed in the car, chatting life and politics. Maddy is incredibly cool, and one of her brothers is awesomely wise. We had some great conversation. Oh, and one of the guys was a proud, out and out racist, so we had some nice political debate there. I've realised that racists are not inherently bad people. They don't hate me personally, and indeed, this guy was a perfect gentleman. He acted with so much honour, of a sort which I thought had died out long ago.
Once we were nicely stoned, we went into Maddy's house and got ice cream. With cream on it. During this time I was texting Beardy, and sorted out that, once we had chilled for a while, then we would meet them at the triangle. This blog entry is becomong like a novel, and as we went into Maddy's room, I demanded a pencil and paper, which were eventually found for me.

Isn't this fun?

I have the house to myself and mulled wine (because its freezing) and brownies and nice things and Fable 2. Half my brain is missing and luckily its mostly the bad parts. Unfortunately some intelligence went with it, but I'm sure they'll come crawling back soon enough. I'm actually somewhat calm, which is the rarest and coolest of things. :)

Vegan

Yes. I am now vegan. Meaning much inconvenience for anyone who tries to feed me.

Now, my reasons: Animal products have been inside animals. That is icky. Unclean, impure, gross, diseased. And it is not nice for animals to be treated as food machines and kept in boxes. Animals cause pollution and use up resources, contributing to global warming, the apocalypse, etc. etc.

Really, it is irrational. Animal stuff. Ewwwwwwww. Except honey, I don't mind that. But really, just don't try and make me food. It won't work. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Yucky

*WARNING* This post is a depressing and annoying moan * ED trig*

I feel so gross today. 132 lbs. Just, really, what the fuck? Granted, I weighed myself after a big meal, but how much difference will that really make? I'm still too fucking fat. And yeah, I'm moaning, but what am doing about it? Nothing. In fact, I'm eating. Thats a great way to lose weight and tone up.

I don't want to go crazy here. I really can not be arsed with eating disorders any more. But I swear, if I don't do something, then I'll go insane anyway. I know the obvious solution to this is to diet. But my idea of 'on a diet' is everyone else's idea of 'a fucking deathwish' so really, let us not go there. Or... well, maybe... God no. Its not like I can do that anymore. If I don't eat right, I get sick way too easily. I've really sensitized myself to it.

Fucking Hell. This time last year I think I was 49 kilos. And I was in hospital after ODing. bviously, thin doesn't mean happy. But fat definitely equals depressed. Really, I want to get to a stable weight, around 8 st. 7lb. Thats healthy, but I don't look like a fucking whale. I'm just so disgusted at myself right now. I want to be sick just looking at myself. I want to jump off of a fucking bridge. In the interests of sanity, I have to lose weight.

Progress

I don't need to go to counselling and get weighed every week any more. Yay! I only have to go in every two weeks, because, joy of joys, I'm fat enough to be considered healthy. I don't need monitoring.
I think it's just sinking in that I've gained nearly 20lbs. Not 'healthy, recovery, get a healthy weight' type gaining, but 'binge eat and then realise that puking up doesn't help you lose weight' type gaining. Of course, I get congratulations, 'don't you look healthy now' 'you looked so sick before' blah blah blah. They don't have a clue.
Luckily, it's not all gloom and shallow self obsession. I'm eating healthier now, not puking up, and keeping track of my progress. I made a star chart, because I'm sad like that. I feel like I'm actually getting somewhere.

Cake

Lara and Marie slept at mine. We had a cake eating contest. I won!
We drank some wine and sat on the roof and took photos and looked at the stars. I love my friends so much. They just can’t eat cake very well.

Gun City

I went into the big city today. Everything was strange. I went alone, wearing a very short black skirt and stillettos and a grunge jacket, looking like some kind of tramp-whore. I love my boots. Every time I wear them, random weirdos say 'nice boots'. This time, I had complements on my look from a fat middle aged guy (yes, I was weirded out), a black guy, and a random woman.
A surreal moment... walking down a main street, eating an ice cream, dressed like a tramp, with my bag full of drugs. (I spent my easter egg money on legal drugs. The Egyptian gives me a discount on Salvia. He thinks he's saving me from a life of junkieness.)
I did get Easter eggs. I just skinted myself. Dad picked me up from Derby, we got stuck in traffic, and somehow lost in Hazelwood when he tried to turn around in Duffield. Yes, only my dad could manage that. We got fish and chips. Every time I eat it, I regret it and feel ill. The portions are huge, it's greasy and stodgy and yuck. Anyway I threw up. Which sucks, but I was in so much pain. My stomach is so fucked.