Hello! For those of you that don’t obsessively read my blog/diary/essays in poop that I sometimes leave on the walls of public toilets in train stations, I have an eating disorder. I’ve been wonky with food for nigh on 12 years now, and while I’m happy to say that the worst of the physical symptoms are behind me, my brain still spazzes out occasionally and causes a big kerfuffle in my headspace.
A couple of days ago, I went to a GP to get a referral to someone to speak to about said kerfuffles because they’ve been a bit more kerfuffly than usual recently. My doctor and I had the following conversation:
Me: “I’d like to get a referral to someone to speak to about my eating disorders.”
Him: (looks me up and down) “Well it’s not serious at the moment, obviously.”
I wrote another article for Ben Vernel’s comedy website Bon Vivant. It’s about how I’m not good at a bunch of things but do them anyway. Here it am:
Three Things I Consistently Forget I Can’t Do
Look. Just because I’ve been living in this body for a bunch of years and have no concrete memories of ever operating another one (apparently wishing REALLY REALLY hard that I was Bruce Willis and wearing a white singlet doesn’t count), it doesn’t mean that I have to be some kind of preternaturally intuitive expert on the damn thing. What am I, Superman Jesus? (Again, no, because of the wishing thing.)
Hello! I wrote an article for Bon Vivant, a comedy website run by the splendid Ben Vernel. It’s about how and why I shun automobiles, bicycles (even penny-farthings) and skis. Here it be:
I Don’t Drive by Bridget Neval
(via Bon Vivant, 7 December 2011)
A semi-autobiographical rambling I came up with back in 2009. Follow our hero (me, of course) as she navigates the strange and exciting world of share-house living. Featuring a cast of lovable oddballs and told in adorably disjointed prose.
Written by B. Phillips
I stared. The dame in the mirror stared back. I tossed my head, she tossed hers (not in a gay way).
Looking good, Bridgey, I thought to myself, admiring the way my hair cascaded over pale shoulders, teasingly revealing just a hint of firm, supple breasts beneath the flowing locks. I eyed the rest of my reflection. Long, smooth legs, slim, taut stomach… Yes sir. Things were looking good. I slid a hand down, inching towards-
“Bridget!” A voice startled me, and I fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs. “Are you molesting the mannequin again?”