WARNING CHILDREN: An Obese Squidward Loose In England

"Have bottom size of Brazil."

I had planned to bite the bullet today and share my current weight with you lovely people - I cannot believe I have followers; a pair of ruby red slippers for you all! - but I stepped on the scale this morning and my head nearly sky-rocketed off my body and into out of space in complete shock.  And it wasn't a good sort of shock like finding Johnny Depp at your front-door wearing nothing more than a bow-tie...

Hmmm....A long time passes...

And she's back in reality.  Anyway it wasn't that sort of shock; rather it was the finding your mum in bed with your school teacher kind of shock which no girl ever wants to experience, and for the rest of the day I have been walking around like a very miserable Squidward.  I have now locked myself in my bedroom in case I scare any more little children with my frightening demeanour.

I haven't been the happiest of bunnies today.

I knew I was fat.  I always am aware at how fat and grotesque I am.  But those evil scales showed me just how disgusting I am and how I have put on 3lbs since Monday.  How is that even possible?  I would blame the Fat Fairy (who I call Mildred) for visiting me in my sleep, but I think it's more to do with the complete lack of control I have had these past few days and the fact that I have been unwisely following the philosophy of one Homer J. Simpson: TV, beer and baldness.

Well not any more!  Tomorrow my Drill Sergeant other half of me will come into town and my training into perfection will begin.  I have work tomorrow and don't get back to later so I can't really exercise during the day, but for my entire hours lunch break I will be power walking around the nearby park, probably pretending that I'm a spy who needs to find and deactivate a bomb; and I will eat no more than 600 calories; 800 at the very maximum.

And so ladies I disappoint you today by not giving you my stats, but next week no matter what the scales say I will tell you the startling truth of my weight.

I really am quite tired of having a bottom so big that dancers could use it as a stage to practise their tap dancing.

<---- p.s these are the shoes you lovelies can expect to find underneath your bookcases tomorrow morning, a thank you for following and commenting on this silly little blog of mine.

Me!

"Now you people have names.  That's because you don't know who you are.  We know who we are, so we don't need names."

I am generally suspicious of computers. Whenever I step into a computer shop (which isn't often) I put on my poker-face, defensively cross my arms across my chest, and have a conversation with the computers inside my head where I let them know, in no polite terms, that they cannot fool me with their general prettiness and shininess and that I know what their game is.

Threatening inanimate objects isn't the healthiest of past-times and I'm sure Christmas would feel as though it had come early to any psychiatrists who happened to be holidaying in my psyche; but I cannot help but be suspicious of most technology.

What is so good about a phone which wakes you up in the middle of your escapades with Bertie Wooster? And what is the allure of a social network site which is basically legalized stalking? And don't even get me started on E-Books...

But what I do love about technology, specifically the Internet, is that you can create a whole new identity for yourself and feel rather important in the process. I, for example, am not called Cleo. My own name is rather boring, but with this cloak and dagger secrecy I can be whoever I want, and I choose to be Cleo.

Having an alias does make one feel incredibly like a superhero.

For anybody who is interested though here is what you need to know about me:

1) I live in England. Mentally I'm dancing with James in his giant peach (for those of you not acquainted with Roald Dahl, "dancing with James in his giant peach" is not some sort of weird sexual innuendo); but physically I'm stuck here in good old Blighty.

2) I'm 20. I feel so old being 20 and am in the process of concocting an elixir of youth. Wish me luck!

3) I'm a bookworm who reads and buys books at such an alarming rate that I already know how I am going to die; squashed to death by books seems like a perfectly respectable and pleasant way to die.

4) I walk on my tiptoes, still suck my thumb, and keep Wrigley's chewing gum in business by the slight addiction I have to gum. Even as I type this I'm chewing.

5) Although I have a slight aversion to technology, I manage to be the biggest of hypocrites after falling in love with my iPod. Most probably my 30th birthday present will be a hearing aid, but music needs to be listened to LOUD especially if it's someone as awesome as Florence and the Machine (I want to marry Florence ♥).

6) I struggle to accept reality and live most firmly in the worlds of books and dreams. Having my head in the clouds for most of my life it's only natural that I have my far share of accidents, but so far I have managed to cheat death. But for how much longer??? *creepy music*

7) My heart belongs to Disney, skinny beauties, stationary (yah I'm not the only one battleinmind), people who drink tea, a certain blue-eyed boy, hat-wearers, girls in face-paint, boys too tall to fit through doorways,
those who snort when laughing, and anyone who pays me a compliment.

8) I have beautiful scars along my arm but I can't add more scars. Stupid family have made me feel guilty about self-harming.

&

9) I have an eating disorder. Never been diagnosed and it stills belongs just to me. They took away my SI but my body, my control, my disorder (whatever it might be) is mine. And like a pampered brat amongst treasures she can't keep, I'm not letting go!

The last point is why I'm writing this blog. The blogs I've read have been so inspiring - you are all amazing - but I feel I need support and a sense of pressure to help me. Because I need to be thin, beautiful and ultimately perfect. Perhaps I'll be able to accept reality when I can look at my reflection without feeling repulsed.

So I'm no Coraline Jones, no Violet Parr, and not really Cleo. But here we don't need names, we have no need for small talk; we can unlock the true THIN us.


Now off I skip to watch the skinny ladies of Wisteria Lane.

I Want To Capture The Castle

"I write this sitting in the kitchen sink"

I have never been very good at keeping diaries.

Right up until the age of 16 I believed that if only I brought a pretty enough diary to write in (I have a fetish for stationary) then my body would suddenly be possessed by a writing genius and I was transform into the modern day Anne Frank or the real-life Cassandra Mortmain. I would spend too much money in Paperchase losing myself amongst the notebooks and pens, in the belief that one of these books would ultimately make me famous or make me become more than I was - what I was being nothing more than a shy schoolgirl who hadn't learnt to break the habit of sucking her thumb just yet. But nothing worked.

I still have my old diaries (although I use that term lightly) which have just a few pages of nonsense or what I thought was real meaning or enlightenment, and which turned out to be nothing more than teenage angst, and made me sound like a wannabe pretentious twit. And if I wasn't playing my own little sad violin about how sad and pathetic my life was and how nobody understood me, then I was writing about the most mundane things which are so dull they could be used to induce comas.

[I was going to insert a quote of said diary HERE but a) my room is a labyrinth of junk at the moment and I cannot find one; and b) I don't want to to destroy the braincells of whoever might be reading this.]

I lack motivation and I lack talent; but after finally coming to this conclusion, the girl who wants to lock herself away in a river house with only a typewriter, cigarette smoke and a rat named Jeff for company, has returned to, what she hopes to be, her spotlight.

And so I begin this blog, even though I have no motivation, no deep and interesting thoughts, and nothing really to say.

I guess I can't stop imagining that I really am Cassandra Mortmain.