I hate hate HATE road trips. They are long and painful and filled with fatty snacks and delicious no gross Tim Hortons. I spent the night in a town three hours away only to spend the entire time at Timmies, in a restaurant or trying to ignore my family in the car. I mean they're never talking to me anyways, I'm no trouble, they just bicker among themselves and it's incredibly irritating.

I MUST be back up to 104 pounds. At the least. I really can't take this anymore. I'm tired all the time and I don't have the energy to resist food, or at least that's what I tell myself. This is ridiculous. I am a complete failure. I'd be better off dead, and the world would be better off without me, but I probably don't even have the willpower or the energy to kill myself either.

The pounds are weighing me down and it's all my fault.

I've never believes in the magic of a new year but please please please 2010, all I want is to disappear.

Je suis lourde de livres et de fautes. Cette année n'a été qu'un échec. Je n'ai jamais cru à la magie du Nouvel an, mais je t'en prie, 2010, tout ce que je veux, c'est disparaître.

air, air!

Today, I feel great. I've been sick for almost a week, and now the swelling in my stomach has finally subsided and I can breathe. I wasn't hungry at all, and everytime I did eat even the slightest bit, my stomach would swell up to the size of a beachball and I would puke everything out. A little gross, yet totally satisfying as I wake up today feeling euphoric: I've proven to myself that I don't need food to feel strong and alive.

I'm also down to 102 pounds. My fingers shake in excitement: this is my lowest weight in a long, long time. Only three pounds away from double-digits. Amazing. And I'm still not eating: hunger is only a faint echo, a whisper in the distance that is easily overpowered by my burning desire to see more bone.

There was an ice storm a few days ago and my backyard looks amazing, it's like there is a forest of glass right out my window. It is also beautifully cold outside, some minus twenty-seven degrees I believe, so I will be definetely taking a walk this afternoon. The sun makes the snow and the ice glitter: to those who didn't know, Canada is a beautiful country. I will take pictures and post, if I can find my camera that is.

At any rate, I must have been a good girl this year because the magic of Christmas allowed me to lose weight instead of gaining it. Happy holidays, ladies. Best wishes because you deserve nothing less.

blue feet

Sorry I haven't posted, this has been a very busy and eventful week. Long story short, I was rushing all over the place to get everything done before the holidays and something just HAD to come around and make everything ten times more complicated: I sprained my ankle playing basketball on Thursday. Even today it is still swollen and turning a gruesome yellow-purple.

Saturday morning, even though I always tell myself I don't need to check numbers, I stepped onto the scale.

One-hundred and six pounds.

I am a failure.

I was so disappointed and upset and bewildered that I grabbed my dog and went for a walk (or should a say a limp) in the forest. The thoughts in my head were bouncing back and forth and I couldn't think straight: I must have wandered in there for at least an hour. After a while, I realized it was awfully quiet, and that i couldn't hear my dog's footsteps behind me. That's when I noticed I had no clue where I was. Of course you may be thinking, silly Jillian, why don't you follow the footprints you left in the snow back home? That's what I tried to do, but let me tell you it's a lot harder than you'd think. I had gotten into the very thick part of the woods and just getting untangled from the knot of branches was difficult. My ankle was hurting and every step I took made me wince. My short boots were filled with snow, my pants were wet, and I had nothing else on but a jacket and a pair of gloves. I kept calling my dog but he didn't answer, and I was starting to get pretty scared. At some point, I couldn't walk any longer, so I took off my boots and climbed up in a tree, where I tried to warm my feet. I thought I would be crying for my mommy, but really, it was an amzing experience. I felt like I was alone in the world, like my entire life resumed to taking one step after the other in the snow, even if it was hard, even if it was painful. I probably would have fallen asleep there, but I must have a guardian angel up above, because my dog came back for me! I absolutely adore that animal. I told him to "go home" and slowly followed him until we reached that familiar train track, which runs behind my house. From there it took me about half an hour to get back home and my feet were a strange purple-blue I'd never seen before.



Well, that was my adventure of the week. I owe a lot to Kovu, my dog, if not my life, then at least my ten toes. And if that didn't burn any calories then I don't know what will.

At any rate, I'm still alive. Humongous, but alive. Sometimes I wonder if I would have been better off just dying there...

stomach pains

I am deeply deeply confused... I didn't eat yesterday, I barely even had the time. But when I woke this morning, expecting to be starving, I was even less hungry than last night. What is going on with my body? I had an orange to try and get rid of my chest and back pains, and now my stomach is bloated and hurts like hell.

This is just bizarre.

a white christmas after all

Even with my tens of too many pounds, I can't help but rejoice at the sight of snow. Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen, winter has begun. Which means more cold, more beautiful snowflakes, more books, more snuggling up near the fireplace, and more peaceful alone time. One cannot help but to hibernate a little during the winter, right? I am reading Les Misérables by Victor Hugo right now, a classic of French litterature and a MUST if you are in love with the language.

Trois petits chats, trois petits chats, trois petits chats, chats, chats, chapeau de paille, chapeau de paille, chapeau de paille, paille, paille, paillasson, paillasson, paillasson, son, son, somnambule, somnambule, sombambule, bulle, bulle, bulletin, bulletin, bulletin, tin, tin, tintamarre, tintamarre, tintamarre, marre, marre, marabout, marabout, marabout, bout, bout, bout de cigare, bout de cigare, bout de cigare, gare, gare, garde-fou, garde-fou, garde-fou, fou, fou, fou de rage, fou de rage, fou de rage, rage, rage, rage de dents, rage de dents, rage de dents, dent, dent, dentifrice, dentifrice, dentifrice, frise, frise, frise-à-plat, frise-à-plat, frise-à-plat, plat, plat, platonique, platonique, platonique, nique, nique, nick carter, nick carter, nick carter, terre, terre, terrassier, terrassier, terrassier, sier, sier, scier du bois, scier du bois, scier du bois, bois, bois, boisson chaude, boisson chaude, boisson chaude, chaude, chaude, chaudière, chaudière, chaudière, aire, aire, hermitage, hermitage, hermitage, tage, tage, tache de suie, tache de suie, tache de suie, suie, suie, suis pas contre, suis pas contre, suis pas contre, contre, contre, contrebasse, contrebasse, contrebasse, basse, basse, basse-cour, basse-cour, basse-cour, cour, cour, courtisane, courtisane, courtisane, sane, sane, Zeanne d'arc, Zeanne d'arc, Zeanne d'arc, d'arc, d'arc, d'arc-en-ciel, d'arc-en-ciel, d'arc-en-ciel, ciel, ciel, ciel couvert, ciel couvert, ciel couvert, vert, vert, vermifuge, vermifuge, vermifuge, fuge, fuge, fugitif, fugitif, fugitif, tif, tif, typhoïde, typhoïde, typhoïde, ide, ide, identique, identique, identique, tique, tique, tic nerveux, tic nerveux, tic nerveux, veux, veux, veuve de guerre, veuve de guerre, veuve de guerre, guerre, guerre, guerre de Troie, guerre de Troie, guerre de Troie, Troie, Troie, trois petits chats, trois petits chats, trois petits chats, chats, chats...

Cette comptine court dans ma tête.

attached

All I could think of today was this blog and all my lovely blogger friends. I think I have become attached to you all not ony as the authors of amazing internet journals but also as individuals. I am feeling very loving at the moment. :)

This resulted in extreme picture-happiness! Voilà:

This is my baby classic guitar. Her name is Sandy and I've had her since I was eleven.

These are my huge autumn boots. They're way too big and very worn out but I still wear them all the time.

This is the street I live on.. It was very foggy this morning. You can't see my house that's to the right of the cul-de-sac. No, that white circle in the sky isn't a hole in the space-time continuum.


Boredom leads to... origami. It's a guardian angel.

And many, many more. But I think I've bored you enough for the time being.

In other news, I absolutely abhorr glue dots. These things are evil.

Maybe I should go to bed now... Heh. It would appear lack of sleep and sugar is bad for my brain.

I love all of you!

mais pourquoi viens-tu foutre le bordel dans ma tête?

Il s'agissait de la musique. Je me disais comment ose-t-on faire ça à une dépouille qui n'est plus là pour se détendre? J'ai horreur de la musique. Parce que la musique, tenez-vous bien, c'est une abjection, une pieuvre avide qui se nourrit de nous. Faites-en surgir dans un rayon de cent mètres, et je n'ai plus de coeur, il m'est sorti du ventre où il habite, il éclate par terre sous mon regard désemparé, même si j'ai les yeux fermés, il me revient en élastique dans la poitrine en y perçant un trou de balle, et c'est une plaie qui vit et ressuscite à chaque note, et j'en mourrais de ma mort la plus délicieuse tellement c'est atroce et cruel et éprouvant, comme la vie.
-La petite fille qui aimait trop les allumettes, Gaétan Soucy

I am starving for words and paper and poetic license and litterature. I need to escape from reality, because my fantasy world and reality have become too intertwined: I need to leave, to change, to live something new. My head is filled with a number that bounces back and forth and its echoes and I can't hear myself think anymore.

104.
104.
104.

104 pounds.

Such a solid, round number... will it ever change? Why can't numbers fall like the last leaves on the trees or the first snowflakes of the year, or melt like the candle on my bedside table? I wish my mass was an exponential function with a base inferior to 1 to the power of a number multiplied by minus 1 and an asymptote of 104. I don't know if that makes any sense at all, I study math in french. Aren't numbers beautiful when they DON'T quantify the amount of blubber found in your insides?

Thoughts of a neglecting blogger

I have been neglecting my blog and my followers- for shame! This will soon change, I promise. My gross behavior will no longer be excused.

I have however been following your blogs and other blogs of mention with passion and determination. You inspiring young ladies are fantastic.

My life is, how do I put this, dull. The repetitiveness of fatigue and muscle pain and secrecy and shame, the constant numbers on the scale, on the nutrional value tags and on the measuring tape, the dry, bitter cold, without a hint of wind or sunlight or rain... It's driving me insane.

I need change. NOW. Variety. Heterogeneity. Multifariousness. Other fancy synonyms. I want to blend my life into a potpourri of excitement and emotions. I know it's ridiculous, because I can't keep my emotions under control, but they're part of who I am. So I deal with it.

Why do always feel this frustrating need to create with my bare hands? I am not a good artist: I play camfire guitar, am a terrible painter and take a few measly pictures. But I want to create, I need to. I want to learn while I create. I want to write German poetry, or play the accordion.

Anyhow, for the time being, I am quarantined to my quaint, homely bedroom, with for sole company a thermometer, a bottle of water, my guitar, my trusty laptop and my adorable snoozing cat. The artist in me, if she even exists, will have to be patient.

Oh, and before I leave: I have resolved to STOP weighing myself for some time. Especially since I can't exercize. It also may be good for my self-esteem (ha!) since I must eat right now. I'm still in training and my provincial competition is in a week and a half. Oh, wait, that's right, I can't train, because I am ailing, bedridden, enfeebled and indisposed. And no amount of synonyms is going to change that. Bleh.

Beautiful pictures on their way soon. As soon as I can get off my butt and switch computers (oh the luxury of the upper middle-class). Pinky swear!

disease of thought

Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence -- whether much that is glorious- whether all that is profound -- does not spring from disease of thought -- from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. - Edgar Allan Poe, Eleonora

We are sick. Sick in our minds. That doesn't mean we don't feel. It doesn't mean we don't love. It doesn't mean we can't live. It doesn't mean it's bad thing.


Right now I wish I was an artist. I want to be the frail little fairy with chestnut eyes and a voice like the wind that dances from tree to tree, painting the leaves in yellows, oranges and reds and twirling with them as they fall gently to the ground. I want a dark grey sky, a powerful storm, I want to see the branches tremble and bend and break. I want to smell of soil and dry grass and live off nuts and flowers and sweet morning dew. I love the fall.


I feel so tired. Even the voice inside my head is dry and raspy, stern and boring. I want to read beside a fire, or curled up on a branch in a tree, read and learn about people and nature and how things work. I want to sleep for twelve hours and wake up in the middle of the night and count the stars. I want to paint with my fingers. I want to write things that will make people think. I want so many things, but there's something holding me down. Perhaps it's those pounds and pounds of fat. Maybe if I lose them I'll fly up into the sky and not have to care about any mundane things anymore.

Unfortunately, life isn't a fairytale. And even if it was, my failure to lose any weight at all would keep from doing all those wonderful things. I don't dare to look at the scale, it must be terrible, terrible.

Looking back, this post turned out better than I thought. However, words will be words: there is so much more I wish I could say with images and sounds and smells and feelings.

I am lucky to have been blessed with the support of seven beautiful followers, and the inspiration from many, many wonderful ladies, including Anise, Isabella, Falling Starlight, MJ, Ana's Girl, Cloud, Kemper and others that, even if I haven't mentionned them, touched and inspired me to greater things. Thank you, I adore you.

Anthems for a seventeen year-old

This song by Broken Social Scene really gets me.

Used to be the one of the rotten ones
And I liked you for that
Now you're all gone, got your make-up on
And you're not coming back

Bleachin' your teeth, smiling flash
Talking trash, under your breath
Bleachin' your teeth, smiling flash
Talking trash, under my window

Park that car, drop that phone,
Sleep on the floor, dream about me

Used to be the one of the rotten ones
And I liked you for that
Now you're all gone, got your make-up on
And you're not coming back

It's a song about change, negative, irreversible change.

If you've never heard it, you should definitely listen to it sometime. That and the classic "Open Fire" by Silverchair. Beautiful songs.

Introduction (Bonjour je m'appelle....)

I've never been good at introductions.


This is where I'll post the pictures of my "progress", my thinspo, or just pictures I find beautiful.


You know what they say: a picture's worth a thousand words. Or something like that.




(Picture Removed)


So this is obviously not very inpirationnal. This is me approx five minutes ago. Yes, I know I have the body of a tall yet chubby twelve-year old. I prefer to remain anonymous hence the cowboy hat. I'm no canadian cowgirl. Although that would be pretty cool.



(Picture Removed)

Behold my barely visible to the human eye collarbones. I still like them though :)

(Ouch my tan lines are terrible!)

That's it for now. Definetely some prettier pictures coming soon. We all need some thispiration. Or maybe that's just me, all the girls I follow are so pretty.

Oh and I'm actually french, so I'm sorry if my grammar is a little sketchy.

I already feel less lonely. :)

*PS: Many of the first posts have been deleted.