From 8/20/08, "Un-settling into LA"

Couldn't get food off my mind all day today. Had a bottomless hunger. Went to the Burbank library where I applied for a lot of odd jobs. Called SG at Clairmont today. Still interviewing other people. Guess I didn't wow them as much as I thought, or as much as they let on. Major stress triggering major eating issues. This was my day:

1 cup of coffee w/ Sweet & Low and cream
slices of sharp cheddar
bowl of guacamole and chips
whole 10" cheese pizza
purge
1/2 bag of steak fries
can of Spaghettios
second 1/2 of steak fries
second can of Spaghettios
purge

Ate these things about an hour apart. I ate the pizza, threw it up. Then reheated the oven and made the fries. Had to keep them down while C was here. Made the pasta and cooked more fries. Ate the pasta while the fries were cooking. Then after the fries, cooked another can of pasta and ate that. Purged. Now I'm enjoying a nice glass of tea. My eating has been totally out of control for the past several days. I just can't stop thinking about food. Eating it. Not eating it. Binging and purging. Today was the first day I've purged since I was home in MO a few weeks ago.

I'm stressed about work. No one has come through. I love LA but I'm going nuts.

And I think I'm irrationally in love. I know G has no feelings for me at all. If he does, he's good at hiding them. Sure there was the sex, but what does that mean? Nothing.
A text exchange:
G: Got your letter today. Large use of huge words. Had to read it twice. Not used to civilized speech patterns in BFE [bum-fuck Egypt]. You doing ok?
Me: I'm fine. Glad you got it. Sorry about the language. Can't control it. Okay that I wrote?
G: Of course. I don't mind. Plus when you get famous I can realise [sic, release] a memoir book and make a million. So keep em coming.
Me: Haha. Good. Cause I wrote you one today.
G: Awesome. I may have to get off my ass and write back...
Me: You should write back so we can trade sundries and sharp pedantic quips.
G: ...sounds like a plan.
Me: Good, good.
G: for now it's beddie by. I'll call soon.
Me: Oh, please do! That'd be great. Night.
End texts.

(hanging on a quiet desperation is the English way...)

I can't ever be normal. I have to be obsessive. Men. Food. Diets. Stress. Sleep. Sex ... Yes my full transition into a statistic is almost complete.