8:15 p.m. - 2002-12-06
I Like Me for Me
I think the happier I get, the worse my diary entries are going to be. When I'm sad or angry, I can lament for paragraphs about the drama of my life. As simplistic as that sounds, exercising is changing my life and making me happy. I'm no longer fantasising about curling up in bed and sleeping forever. Instead, I fantasise about healthier things, like a six pack, upper body strength, or stronger thighs so I can be like Xenia from GoldenEye. I'm actually feeling good again. For far too many months, depite the throng of lady callers, I've been feeling so FUCKING ugly. Isn't that a slap of reality for you? All that female attention, all the sex, and I still felt ugly. What did that teach me? That I need to look good for myself. No matter how flattering the compliment is, my own personal assessment of my looks is what matters most. Is that a hoot or what? Didn't we all learn that cliche in primary school-- that you need to look good for yourself, not other people? Guess I'm 10 years late understanding that concept.

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