I had the most bizarre night’s sleep ever last night. For one thing it seemed to go on for ever, which on a school night is awesome. Most times it feels like the alarm goes off almost before I’ve gone to sleep you know?
I’m a very sound sleeper, in fact my mum used to say I could sleep on a clothes line. I’ve always been the same, but I still don’t ever seem to get enough sleep. Thing is, my head is usually so chock full of stuff that I want to look at, or find out about, I end up mooching on line for hours when I go to bed. Once I start looking for things to inspire my mind down one alley or another, time burns away without me realising and it’s often after midnight before I settle down to actually sleep.
Not last night though, I had a relatively early night. I’d had a lovely evening trying on clothes. After losing a ton of weight my friend has had a wardrobe clear-out, and as luck would have it the stuff she’s getting rid of just happens to be around the size I’m going to be needing fairly soon. Perfect timing, right? I staggered home with two massive bags of stuff and it felt like Christmas morning as I explored the contents and tried stuff on.
I’d also caught up on the last episode of Britain’s Next Top Model on the TV whilst I was eating dinner, so those two things combined are probably responsible for the fact that I’ve spent all chuffing night on the catwalk.
I walked for Chanel – of course dahlink – and Gucci and lots of other posh folk who exist only to dress pencils. The clothes hung off my skinny string bean frame like a clothes hanger (except for the bit where they clung to my impressive and exceptionally perky norks, hey come on it’s my dream) and all the celebrities watching me from the front row shuffled their bony asses in their respective seats and sighed with envy as I looked down on them and strutted past with attitude.
The towering heels didn’t pinch my feet, because my feet were skinny feet. No stubby toes or cankles here thank you very much, and definitely no feet that looked like blown-up toddler feet stuck on the end of fat fifty-year-old legs. No, the legs which my skinny feet were attached to were tanned and smooth, and born to advertise hosiery. Oh, and about nine feet long.
You can imagine how pissed off I was this morning when I woke up to find myself zipped back into what looked like a lumpy old pillow as I shuffled past the mirror. I didn’t even look on the way back once I’d put my contacts in, I didn’t need depressing even more by seeing the image in full HD.
I’ll tell you what though – I’m hungry for more of the person who came out to play in my sleep. Oh I know I’m not going to get nine feet long legs with elegant feet, and my days of smooth golden skin are long behind me. Best steer clear of towering heels too, I was never very good at staying upright on them even in my younger skinnier days. But I’m hungry to get to that place when all of me struts to the same beat, instead of trying to stride out confidently and feeling my arse follow half a beat behind as it wobbles around in my pants trying to keep up.
To get dressed without having to breathe in and say a quick prayer that the thing which fitted me last weekend still fastens. To give myself a quick once-over in the mirror and then not have to worry for the rest of the day about my appearance, or what other people might be thinking about the way I look.
That’s the kind of freedom I’m looking forward to. I’m happy that I’m taking a step nearer to it every day 🙂
