Day 0: I'm not sure if I can technically call this a day, since I only decided to undertake this quest recently. About 20 seconds ago, in fact. Upon gazing at my face in the mirror, I stared in wonder at the good qualities emanating from myself, vibes of confidence practically visibly bouncing off of the mirror. Embracing my inner beauty, I saw a young woman with a good deal of potential, who only had increased confidence and a healthier lifestyle to gain by losing a few pounds. With a spring in my step and a sparkle in my eye, I decided that I would embrace this challenge to unveil Rose-Version 2.0. After that, I skipped off into the sunset singing "Someday my Prince Will Come."
Actually, that' s a complete lie, a parallel situation in the world of Idealism, located in the galaxy of Never-Going-To-Happen (just take the second star to the right, straight on 'til you reach Sappy Clichés). No, this is not what actually happened, although it is the version my mother would like to hear (but ever since she told me that getting a finger prick "wouldn't hurt at all", her judgment has been suspect in my eyes. That's right Mom, go repeat that to the traumatized 8 year old crying in the waiting room.) Anyways, what I did see when I looked into the mirror was an average girl with mascara smeared eyes and a body that'd been doing some pretty serious damage to my self-esteem complex (and we're talking Jason Bourne-level damage here, people. This is some intense stuff. Since I'm not a celebrity and can't hire a personal trainer (an injustice of epic proportions, since Celestina Warbeck's daughter can act like a train wreck and get more media attention than global warming, and I can't even get a personal trainer) and I'm not good enough with science to put an electric wall around my refrigerator, I decided to use a psychological tactic known as Sublimation: the transformation of negative emotions or instincts into positive actions, behavior, or emotion. In other words, yes, I did learn a few things from that Muggle Psychology seminar. (One concept, to be exact, but don't applaud my intellectual abilities just yet.) In other words, I'm departing from the town of Self-Pity and taking a ride to a little place called Self-Improvement…by using my writing to channel my negative thoughts. Brilliant, I know. (At this point, you may applaud if you feel led to do so).
Anyways, that's my overly long explanation of why this journal is in existence. I will be chronicling my attempts to reveal the abs that do, in fact, exist. I like to think of them as a physical metaphor for the hope that is budding inside of me. While it's still a fragile little seedling, hopefully it will blossom, as will my beautiful body (preferably sooner rather than later). With any luck, after my stay at Self-Improvement I can catch a train to the Wild Side. I'm feelin' a little crazy just thinking about it…maybe someday I'll even be daring enough to stay out past curfew. But just for a few minutes; I wouldn't want to push too many boundaries. (Or maybe not. I don't think I could cope with McGonagall's Look of Death © 196something…back in the Dark Ages.)
"Oi! Weasley! If I was to look into the Mirror of Erised, I would see the two of us together. Three words love: you, me, Hogsmeade."
"I'm surprised you didn't drop dead of fright after seeing your face in that mirror you arrogant prick! And in case you didn't take the hint, Malfoy, I'd rather put myself under the Cruciatus, drown myself in the Lake, resurrect myself, and then suffer a slow and painful death being eaten by the Giant Squid than suffer your presence for 10 minutes!" I can't believe I even waste a second of my time arguing with this prat. Screaming at one of the stone walls would be more effective.
Then again, maybe I look just fine.