Disclaimer: I don't own this, am making no money from it etc. It all belongs to Helen Fielding.
15th February
Continued
Tread. Very. Quietly. Try not to make too much noise. Head feels like I have small hamsters with tiny but very real hammers knocking away in there. Oh God. Spent morning with head down toilet getting rid of what seemed like everything I'd ever eaten. Think will just go back to bed for a little while, just to lie my head down.
Oh Christ am late for work. Bugger.
Quite nice morning really. Did not see Daniel all morning, and everyone was looking at me, smiling. Was v. pleased with self for projecting confident image to others, and perfecting inner poise.
Have just looked in mirror, only to find I have been walking around all day with knickers stuck to skirt. I can not do anything right. Wolves here I come. Would perhaps have not been so bad if knickers had been lacy thong, maybe people would have thought I'd got lucky. But no. Knickers were huge kidney warmers, with a hole in. Am desperately racking brain trying to remember who I saw today, and where I've been.
Have just had mad knicker-throwing-out session, getting rid of any knickers that are grey, or full of holes, or just vile. Feel surprisingly fulfilled, as if throwing out old underwear is new form of spiritual epiphany. Maybe could write new self help book, using old pants and bras as v. clever metaphor for life's problems! Imagine self at book signings, making people jealous with how thin I am (I will of course lose three stone through the torture of writer's block.) Think will tell Jude and Shazzer of fantastic plan tonight at 192. Ooh! Bugger, is 8 o'clock and am still in house-coat. Bugger.
Shazzer made v. good point about new old underwear concept. "But Bridge, once you've written 'throw out all your old knickers' what are you left with?" Realise now cannot write entire book based on one concept. Will instead bask in glory of keeping wonderful self revelation secret to self. Am determined to move onto wardrobe now, and throw out clothes which no longer fit Must realise I am never going to be a size eight and must stop buying things telling self I will diet into them. Should be happy with appearance and accept self for who I am. (Or is that whom? No, it is who). Marilyn Monroe after all, was size 16 and is one of the most beautiful people ever. Although, am not Marilyn Monroe. Am the beached whale that is Bridget Jones. Am not sitting in gorgeous mansion in Beverly Hills, but a small flat in London, on own, watching friends and eating an entire tub of ice-cream. Sod this, am going to bed.
Author's note: This chapter was short, but I wasn't going to write another one! Any tips on where this story should go would be greatly appreciated!
This is set before the first book, so she hasn't met Mark yet.
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