My time here so far has been relaxed, and I'm inclined to say healing, although that may be a stretch. It definitely feels good to get some sun - and for it to be the norm to stock up on raw spirulina bars, Arizona green tea, watermelon and fat-free yogurt as opposed to soup and low-calorie carbs. I won't lie when I say that food is all I think about here. Can you blame me? I'm either shopping, ogling at skinny, tan girls who have lived here for ten years; lying on a beach wondering why my pasty thighs still touch at the top; or scouring supermarket shelves for the best brand of kale chips. It's a very image, weight, diet-obsessed culture, and I kind of like it, but I think I'd go mad if I had to endure more than a month here.
I'm tired, is the problem. A little tired of myself, perhaps, or the thoughts in my head. Tired because I sleep too long, tired because I know I'll hate myself with a vengeance once I'm back in London, with no excuse for a lack of direction. The one thing that's keeping me going is knowing that when I return, I'll only have to wait two months before moving in to my university accommodation, which is definitively exciting and 'new'.
Spending time with my dad and sister is beneficial. I don't miss my home life as much as I thought I would, which I find to be mildly depressing, but also invigorating, refreshing, and liberating. From this, I know that I'll be OK when I finally leave. Maybe not fantastic 100% of the time, but OK. Coping.
I've not had many chances to weigh here, except on the Wii Fit, which I don't trust. It says I'm 148 lbs. There's a slight possibility that's true, I guess, but when I look down at my stomach, I have big doubts.
