Pensées...Eté 2006

I'm in the bathroom, but I can't afford to spend the first minutes of my new day on a vomit. It would ruin it all and I'd feel the pain. My body says it's bad for me and it is time I paid attention. For once. So I just concentrate on taking a bath (with as little water as possible) and I avoid the red patches on my skin cuz it would burn with the soap. I look at myself. Yesterday, I was moaning about being fattish. “Just turn on the goddamn news” they say. That surely would cut the moaning. I get out of the bathtub and wrap the body in a towel. I think I could spray some perfume on my wounds, that would surely hurt, but I don't feel like provoking useless pain for the time being. I'm not a real masochist. I'm just faking. I'm doing it the easy way. With cowardice. Hey, what's that ? So now, masochism is an achievement ? Give me a break. I decide not to hurt myself today cuz that's pointless. I just feel bitter for not being able to be shockingly thin, but again, turn on the news. These are the things that happen to people who never turn on the tv, never look around. People who see only their inner world. Their own pain. I find it so base. Give me another slap (that's all you deserve, honey).

I decide to go walking in the cypress alley, with my music (To Venus and Back is in my Cd-player.). I don't take any real pleasure in walking. I'm afraid a man would rape me (Who would hear me screaming ? There's no one here). I'm afraid a hunter would shoot me by mistake. This could be funny. What would people say if they found me dead in a pool of blood ? I wipe these thoughts away and pretend to enjoy the walk. I think of the smell of the dew, I think of the flowers that are open to the rising sun and that's supposed to fill my heart with a feeling of utter contentment, plain satisfaction