A voodoo sorcerer painted my face

So, what about Zermati? Let’s say I’m having a break. The truth being that I let an appointment pass and that, deadly ashamed, I don’t dare call his assistant back (she terrorizes me).

I’m an example of courage when it comes to facing my fears. I deplore, besides, other than doctor Z, the loss of my dentist whom I can’t contact again since I’ve made him believe I now live in Qatar (he called me on my cell phone during my press trip to Doha, being surprised that I had missed an appointment for the second time. Instead of admitting I had completely forgotten, I pretended I had been sent in a rush to the Emirates. Problem: he seemed to have understood I now live there permanently). Technically I didn’t lie, I simply didn’t clear the misunderstanding. I hold on to the fact that my previous temporary tooth lasted ten years. I count on the quality of the current one to last until 2015. By then he might have forgotten me and I’ll be able to plan a come back for my crown. That he ordered in November.


I thus haven’t seen this good mister Z for three months. But I’m fine.

More or less.

I only weight myself every week.

Or almost.

Okayyyyyyyyy, Jimminy Cricket has decided to be a pain today.

Every day. But only once though.

Better. I was scared stiff last week-end when I noticed that I indeed had gained 1.5 kilo. I see no link between this nonevent and my morose mood during the whole of Sunday.

I’m kidding, I’m kidding, but I have to admit I’m not completely out of the wood yet. And that I’m, to tell the truth, terrorized by the idea of my kilos coming back. One year and a half of therapy haven’t changed anything. And though I’m aware, in a very acute way, that it’s this fear of gaining again that takes me to very soapy slopes.

That and the emotional rollercoaster I’m going through currently, alternating between particularly maniac phases –“I was right to chuck the whole thing in and say a big fuck to job security as well as to luncheon vouchers, because with liberty it’s champagne and finger food at any time” and openly depressed ones – “I can’t believe I deliberately decided to put an end to a monthly salary. Liberty is a cage with no bars and two-way mirrors, I want my badge and my vouchers back.”

On the days I’m feeling down, I’m rather poetic, if your think about it.

That tends to confirm there’s no creation without suffering. And this, it sucks big time. Because masochism has never been my strong point.

Says the one who voluntarily committed socially suicide.

Apart from that, you can call me joy.

And otherwise have you seen? I’ve been knitted. Class isn’t it?

I’m not telling who did it but if she wants to pride herself on it she’ll do it herself in the comments. I’m crazy about that doll and Rose asks for one very loudly.


I don’t know if it shows but its knees are inwards. She’s awsome1.

Edit: I’m slightly exaggerating, right, to make the joke. I’m fine don’t worry (Don’t feel sorry for me, I’m ok)1 (I’m thinking about a translation of the blog, so I start with small touches)


[1] TN: In English in the original text.



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