Yeah, this time it is exactly what you think: me taking pleasure from caresssing my own body. I can’t stop running my hands over my abs, for example, because for the first time in my life I can feel them. The middle of my body is a relief map, all hills and valleys. A small circular sinkhole has formed in the centre of my ribcage beneath my breasts. I thought only chickens had that. What’s that I hear you say? Please tell us more about this fascinating subject? Okay I will.

As I lean out—I have now lost 12 pounds—a new body is emerging from beneath the melting layers of fat. This process reminds me of Michelangelo’s conceptualization of sculpture; according to him, chiselled human figures gradually surfaced from inside the hard marble, as if they were in bathtubs from which water was slowly drained. My less impressive work of art is similarly being revealed, and I think I like it. As I score rather high on the autism spectrum, I also like making lists. Here is a points-bulletin account of some things I have learned about myself during this ‘cutting’ period:   

1. I am a veiny mother fucker. My forearms, biceps, and shins are vascular even when I am at rest. My lower torso is an outrage. It looks as if my uterus has been dissected, but not by Gunther Von Hagens. Instead it resembles the work of Jacopo Berengario da Carpi from about 1520. Please see the visual examples below, though I should note that I could never adopt the posture of the figure on the right, who is precociously making a vagina print. Those damned Renaissance women thought of everything first.

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