All the things I really like to do are either immoral, illegal, or fattening. I was reading an essay by Alexander Woolcott, and was feeling a tad ill. I went out with a very good friend for dinner last night, and the mixture of potato and enchilada didn't agree with me at all. But than again why would one eat a potato substance with an enchilada? There is no such thing in anyone's life as an unimportant day. Yet, I found myself in bed being very aware of my stomach and thinking that I even look fat when laying on my back. The true test of being fat for me is standing up naked, and if you can't see your genitals then you are too fat.
I felt an anxiety attack was on its way. It didn't help matters that I spent a great amount of time yesterday in the bathtub reading short stories by Patricia Highsmith as well as Edgar Allan Poe. I felt like I was a subject matter for a photograph by Larry Clark. Totally wasted, and very nervous about going out that night with my friend. She is very beautiful, and with me looking fat, and basically disgusting looking - I just didn't want to appear together, because I felt it would make her look bad.