Its funny really because I should be disgusted with myself on paper, but when I think about it I never really remember a time when I really liked my body.

Sure, people have stories about an uninhibited me walking around the house in my undies and going out in see-through tops when I was younger but I can honestly say that was because on the scales I was fine.

I was between those numbers that say "Youre within your 'perfect' weight range time to be happy".

But really, when my aunties would say that maybe I was losing too much weight I looked at myself in the mirror and felt exactly how I feel now.

Some bits I like, some I dont. Even a few sizes smaller I still couldnt wear what I liked- either because they were in shops that catered for girls no bigger that a size 8 or because they looked crap.

And now is exactly the same. I still feel exactly the same.

The same fears of being judged by Melbourne's beautiful people for not looking effortlessly cool, that look that everyone goes for.

I dont know why I care. All those years of trying just to find out that whether Im a size 16 or size 10 I still dont feel good enough.

Or I feel great to me, but then freeze infront of certain folk.

Thats more like it. I dont mind myself really. At the moment Im all boobs and bum, and I dont mind it that much at all. But I know Im going to feel seriously inadequate when I get home.

This is my biggest fear of going home, the judgement.

It least I have my G to come home to, who wont hear a bad word against the way I look- yay for me!

Speaking of G, last night I had that sort of headache where its fine if you sit totally still, but the minute you move its agony and you cant stand any light in your face.

I grumbled at G a few times for choosing to do his ironing for the weekend right when I was in the throws of agony. Turning all the lights on so he could see. So I went to bed and he came in and turned the light on there as well so he could find something. Goddamn. I just wanted him go away and leave me alone.

Then today he did, he's gone on a boys weekend in Middlebourough and will be back tomorrow. This morning he walked around packing his overnight bag at 8 am.

He always walks around singing made up songs like weird hybrids of Lionel Ritchie and something else.

Me not being a morning person and testing my headache recovery sat up in bed and said

"G, the fact that its 8am on Saturday morning means nothing to you does it?"

and he went "Oh sorry" and then came over an nuzzled me for a while before coninuing to pack without the singing.

and I lay there and after a while I stared to really wish that he would start singing again.