Remember this…remember the whole hair-brained idea I had about fasting for Lent — the entire 40 days? Well, here I am…16 days in and I’m ready to say, “It’s a wrap.” *complete with hand gesture and a heaping dose of attitude*
I’m starting to hallucinate and this cannot be a good thing.
By the time the clock strikes 2 o’clock in the afternoon (mayyyybe 3:00), I’m visualizing myself — kind of like an outer body experience — in a crumpled heap on the floor of my office. Now, that would not be a good look.
I have a shake at about 9:00 a.m. (…definitely before 10 o’clock because if not I’d be dead before any of my recurring, obsessive, compulsive Outlook Calendar 10:30 reminders). By 1 o’clock, I’m already on my first cup of tea. By 3:30, I’m on my second shake and I’m already having the shakes coupled with feelings of desperation and anxiety that the clock isn’t moving. I swear I see food every time I look up — something steaming with the scent of garlic wafting through the air.
Side Note: Actually, it’s during the hours of 2:00 and the close of business that I’m praying I’ve worn my best undergarments. The West Indian Mother always warned: Wear your good stuff when you’re out of the house. You never know if you have to go to the hospital.
How could I die in peace if I knew I’d slacked off in the perfect undergarments department?
By 5:00 p.m., I’m on my second or third cup of tea. My hallucinations have increased. Thoughts of food are constant and pretty much shouting at me with a megaphone. All I can think of is eating. By now, sundown has come and gone and I should be eating but I’m still at the office. So, I’m stressed, starving and seeing things. If you don’t believe me, follow me on Twitter. You’ll see the tweets. It doesn’t help that since I started this fast, food is seemingly everywhere. Why the h*ll is the microwave in the office kitchenette constantly going? Really, do you need popcorn at 4 o’clock for crissakes! I’m also being tortured by the tweets of fellow “foodies”, and when I’m surfing the web, minding my own business, food always creeps on the screen in the form of a restaurant.
By the time I actually leave the office and get to a plate, whether that’s at home or in a restaurant, I’m RAVENOUS. I’m then forced (yes, forced) to abandon”mindful eating”. I’m cutting and swallowing, basically. Surely, this cannot be healthy. No nutritionist would support this craziness.
So, here I am. I think about quitting every day but then guilt sets in. Guilt. Plus, I’ve told The Matriarch, Sassy Spitfire, The Traveler, and God knows who else, that I’m doing this thing. I committed to 40 days and so I guess I have to suffer — but I refuse to suffer in silence. I will not go quietly! *bangs fist on table (in my head)* Oh no. I complain. I complain to anyone who will listen (and I’m tempted to complain to the homeless woman who talks to herself on Madison Avenue near the Cardinal’s entrance at St. Patrick’s Cathedral).
Maybe I could get something out of this, like losing a few pounds? That would be a bonus. *Looks down at bellies*…But, it ain’t happening, trust me. Not to mention, with all this liquid intake (which, mind you, also includes water), I’m now dangerously close to being in a Depends commercial. The ladies’ room seems to get farther and farther away from my office every day…*voice trails off*