September 25th, 1990
At home, England
It’s not even nine o’clock but I’m already in bed, trying to ignore the sound of my growling stomach and the hunger pangs accompanying it.
My current fantasy revolves around meeting David at the airport in Germany, where he takes one look at me, steps back and remarks, “Wow, Karen, when did you get so thin?” At which point, I’ll smile and wave my hand in a gesture of, “Oh please, I always look like this.”
In order for said fantasy to be fulfilled, I need to lose one pound per day for the next eleven days, which will take me down to eight stone. In David’s language that’s one hundred, twelve pounds, in mine it means I’m skinny.
This afternoon, in another attempt to avoid eating, I went to the pictures and saw, “I Love You To Death,” a very cool black comedy with William Hurt, who I find incredibly appealing. River Phoenix was also in it and he’s not too shabby either, but given the choice (like that’d ever happen!) I’d pick Mr. Hurt.
Shit, I’m hungry!