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mardi 26 juillet 2011


If all goes to plan, the girls will be home in less (much less, hopefully) than 24 hours. I can't wait. I can't wait to hold them, kiss them, hear their voices, even hear them whine about something (though that latter part will probably not last very long).

I got some stuff done today, too. Not much, admittedly, but some all the same. I threw out 7 huge bags of rubbish - a huge chunk of it was recycling rubbish that's been piling up in the kitchen for weeks because the recycling bin is rarely out and, when it is, always full - and tidied up a fair amount of the sitting room. To me, it looks pretty tidy; there are still a few things to do, and I need to vacuum like crazy, but it's basically done. The only problem is the fact that to the untrained eye, the place still looks like a tip because there's still so much else to do. And I won't get a huge amount done "tomorrow" as it's already 5 am. But well. Baby steps, as they say, baby steps.

On the down side, though, is my uncontrollable tears this evening as I watched "Belle toute nue" on M6 (can't believe I actually watch this kind of crap now). It's a programme that gets a very camp stylist guy to help two women come to terms with their bodies by relooking them. Oh boy. The things the two women were saying could have come from my own mouth:

- can't bear to look at myself in a mirror;
- hate my stomach/hips/bust;
- never want to be seen in a swimsuit;
- don't feel attractive;
- can't be bothered to make any effort because I'm so convinced that I'm not attractive;
- etc.

I was crying before the end of the first "make-over", sobbing by the end of the second one.

I'm not (I don't think) as "curvaceous" as either of the women, mainly because I'm taller. But I am undoubtedly overweight, muffin-topping and repulsed by my stomach/hips/thighs. I don't make much effort any more because I'm chronically single, likely to remain so and virtually a recluse.

I know it's up to me to make the effort, to get out there and meet people (easier said than done: I'm utterly broke, remember?), reclaim my life. But I don't have the courage, I don't have the guts for that kind of thing.

And oh, how I hate being alone! How I long to feel a man's arms around me, holding me tight, whispering into my ear that I'm beautiful, that everything will be OK, that everything really will be OK.

But it ain't happ'nin' people, not at all.

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