I got so used to taking in roughly 1200 calories a day and exercising on a regular basis that I lost more weight than I'd aimed for without me even realising it. This morning, I checked out the size of the gap between my thighs in the mirror and I was alarmed to see a pretty substantial gap. I noticed while looking at my photos from Penang how skinny my legs are - in a completely unattractive way. Most alarmingly, I am convinced that my boobs have shrunk - and it wasn't like they weren't small enough to begin with.
I'm actually pretty upset about the boobs shrinkage. Not only does it make me feel less attractive, there's little hope of getting whatever I've lost. I don't even know how this happened; one day the weighing scale said I was 52.x, which was good, and then tonight, it said I was 50.8. The fuck?!
I'm going to start eating more for sure - more carbs, more healthy snacks, and I'm definitely going to treat myself to cakes on a more regular basis. I need to get rid of this guilty mindset when I indulge in soemthing sweet because I don't want to become a walking skeleton, thank you very much. I'm quite grossed out when I look in the mirror; apart from my rather well-defined arms (especially my right arm) and flatter stomach, I don't see anything remotely attractive about my body.
Despite realising that I've lost too much weight, I went running anyway. I don't even do it for weight loss; I do it for the adrenaline rush.
Unfortunately, I was annoyed at the end of it because 1) I was at least two minutes short of matching my time from last week; and 2) I tried out the Nike iPod companion, not knowing that there was stupid automated voice that tells you how much of your work out you've completed, and it was most distracting thing of all time. It took me out of the zone every five minutes, when it announced that I was 10 minutes into my work out or whatever - just shut up! The worst part was during the last five minutes when it started counting down every freaking minute. Who would find this helpful?! Thankfully there is an option to switch it off; otherwise, it would be a waste of a good way to keep track of what you accomplished.
Apparently I ran 5.09km for 32 minutes, at 6 minutes and 20 seconds per km, and burned 269 calories. Quite annoyingly, I was inflicted with stitches during the last few minutes and it took major effort for me to keep going until I reached the bottom of my slope, a.k.a. my targeted end point.
I ran to the Bukit Batok nature reserve and ran in it. I almost got lost. I can't remember the last time I stepped foot in there. It was nice, though, breathing in some fresh air and being insulated from the traffic on the main road. It would probably be nice to run at night. Maybe I will try that one of these days.
The run today wasn't as awesome as the one from last week, but it still felt awesome to maintain a constant pace and overtake everyone that was on my path. I'm actually shocked by how good my stamina seems to be! But yes, fuck, I need to stop losing weight and start gaining some.
Tennis with Kelvin
Kelvin is hilarious. He served for the set at 5-3, got broken and let me back into it, and after I hit a double fault to go down 0-15, he said, 'Can we stop? I'm tired.'
I mean...if he'd hung in there for 3 more points, he would've probably won.
The court was so wet though. My new Japanese soft poly strings must be magical because I was getting almost every ball back over the net yesterday, even desperate half-fucked backhand slices. It was awesome. I really enjoy these new strings.
I literally just got an email from him. The whole point of it was to basically tell me that I was wrong about how herpes is transmitted, i.e. it can be transmitted through kissing because he went back to the US, got tested (and it came back negative, duh) and his doctor said that both herpes I and II can be transmitted through kissing.
What am I supposed to take away from that? My doctor said that my specific type cannot be transmitted through kissing. In any event, who the fuck cares? Stop freaking out about a stupid skin condition that everyone freaks out over because it happens to appear on the genitals. It's not going to change your life (unless you're unlucky enough to meet someone who can't get past it or is a self-professed health freak and got himself checked after kissing someone with Type 1 genital herpes), and if you really want to avoid it, the only way to do so is to never have sex ever again from now until the day that you die.
This is just freaking hilarious. I don't even know what to say in response. Should I even bother to reply? I feel so dirty now.
I spent two hours this evening hammering out the last point for the migrant workers section and I'm so pleased to say that I am DONE! The only thing that's left is the conclusion, which I will find some time to do tomorrow. I say 'find some time' because I am attending a 3-hour Jurisprudence class in the morning from 9-12, and then I have to receive an English judge along with the rest of the office from 1.30 to 3. There is also this cocktail reception for the launch of the International Bar Association chapter in Singapore from 4, but I am hoping to skip that, seeing as next Tuesday is my last day at CIL. Hopefully Prof B doesn't force me to go; I would be very upset indeed. I'm also playing tennis at NUS so I would rather not have to go to town and then go home and then go to NUS, 'cause rush hour traffic sucks.
I still can't get him out of my mind. I still can't stop my brain from going into overdrive and analysing almost everything that he says, including the things that he doesn't say. The moment of clarity that I wrote about has unfortunately been obfuscated by the smog of this inner conflict, this struggle, this knowledge that I have to - have to - emotionally disentangle myself from this, which stands in sharp opposition to my heart, overflowing with banal sentimentality, finding stupid reasons to hold on.
I was quite annoyed with him on Tuesday, especially after I was done with tennis at about 10pm and saw no messages from him. Guess what almost completely melted away when I was done showering and saw that he'd texted me after all?
And tonight - he saved me the trouble of trying to decide whether I wanted to take the initiative to text him or not. He said, 'How's your day? New [whatsapp] picture I see. Was it from a recent trip?'
We texted for a bit. I noted the following:
1. I asked if he liked the picture and he didn't respond to the question.
2. When I told him that Cambridge suddenly became real because I've been receiving letters from the faculty and college, all he said was 'cool' and spent two minutes not reading my next message about how it was exciting and scary at the same time; and when I said that we didn't have to talk about that, all he said was 'it's ok'.
3. He said 'bye bye' tonight. He never says 'bye bye'. It's usually 'talk to you tomorrow' or 'good night' or whatever; never 'bye bye'.
4. He's also stopped saying 'kisses' and he hasn't used the kissy emoticon for a while, nor the heart-shaped eyes one.
I am completely aware of how fucking inane I sound right now, actually giving credence to the bloody emoticons (sorry, emoji) that he uses or doesn't use, but there you go - this is the extent of my insanity. I don't know what I'm doing. I would've hung on to the annoyance and defiance, whatever one wishes to call it, if he hadn't texted at all. But now that he's texted, it's a shadow of what it used to be, and so it continues to be confusing.
Also, his response to my Cambridge comments was weird. It was really weird. It's not like he doesn't go on about his Berkeley visa issues to me anyway, so I can't comprehend why he'd be so weird about it. Of course, there's always the possibility that he just doesn't care. Maybe that's it. It would serve me better to believe that, but oh, I really don't want to believe that.
I don't know what he wants, I don't know what I want, I don't know what we are doing. Rather: I know what I want - I want what I can't have. In a perfect world, I would have him because he is what I want, but we met at the worst possible time, let the situation spiral out of control, and now I am trying to fix my heart, trying to repair the damage, but with every step forward that I manage to take, he pushes me two steps back with his prima facie show of interest, which my mind in overdrive interprets as lacklustre.
I am thinking too much. I need to stop thinking, get out of my own head, just take a chill pill and see what happens.
And yet, it is so difficult. I am reading Jeanette Winterson's Written on the Body, which is absolutely brilliantly written, and this part really, really spoke to me:
If I rush at this relationship it's because I fear for it. I fear you have a door I cannot see and that any minute now the door will open and you'll be gone.
Like I told him on Friday night, though, for my case, it's more like I know that there is a door open and I know that he will be gone, but I fear the moment with such intensity that it hurts.
Still, I wonder if a part of me isn't deriving some sick pleasure from this drama. Do I want him more because I can't have him? That would be a typical thing for a human being to do, but I would like to think that I'm more level headed and rational that that.
Then again, if I were truly rational and level headed, I would not have allowed myself to fall in love with someone in Singapore when I'm going to in Cambridge for at least the next year (only the first year has a residency requirement).
The truth is, my mind can say whatever the fuck it wants, I can rationalise the illogicality of this until my brain runs out of oxygen, I can craft all kinds of reasoned reasons why I should walk away and I can even fully believe them - but the truth is, I want him. I am in love with him and I want him, and I hate that I will have to let go. It cuts me deeply.
I am sorry. I am being indulgent. All this is pointless. I am going to bed.