(Those terms are not in any necessary order. We like to throw all three around like hot cakes around here)
This time of fasting has included a reduction of nutritional intake, followed by the imbibing of one salt, water, and lemon juice mixture, frequent trips to the little girls' room, and more vegetable broth than one could shake a stick at.
And ohhhh it sucks.
It sucks so bad.
I blame my boss. She apparently does this every year as part of a detoxing ritual and, considering the amount of fermented potato juice that I have had in the last few months, I decided that maybe I could stand a little bit of that too.
But I don't know if I CAN stand it.
As a result of this sabbatical from all nutritional substance, I have begun to concoct and/or fantasize about some of the most amazing dishes that I will cook for myself when all this is over.
I have also caught myself thinking, "Will I ever get to eat again?"
This might be seen as a doomsday-ist way of looking at things and I may not be living in a prison camp but when you're watching a two-year-old scarf down bread, meat, cheese, and joghurt like it's going out of style, you really can begin to wonder if food ever really really existed for you or if it was just for them, the others, the ones that must hate you.
Or you contemplate stealing the child's food from him and shoving it in your mouth before anyone can call the child abuse hotline.
Our elderly neighbours - the very same ones that have scolded me for not dressing warmly enough this winter season (for those of you who keep up with this blog) - have now switched their attentions from my current fashion sense, or. lack. there. of? and have moved on to what really lies beneath.
To them, it's not an issue of clothes making the man, people. It's a matter of "WHY IN HELL WOULD YOU BE FASTING?? YOU ALREADY ARE SKIN AND BONES! I SWEAR YOU'VE GOTTEN SKINNIER AS WE STAND HERE! JUST LOOK HOW SKINNY SHE IS LEONARD."
So my boss was scolded for including me in on her heathen rites, and I -
well, I was encouraged to eat more sauerkraut.
You think I'm kidding.
I'm really not.
It's the German's answer to anything. Sauerkraut.
Not feeling well? Sauerkraut.
No sex drive? Sauerkraut.
Bad at math? Sauerkraut.
But, on the flip side of this whole equation, I'm not too displeased with myself.
Fasting has never been one of my strong points simply for the sheer fact that I get irritable if I don't eat and then look for the next small child to run over or small business to set to flames.
But this time, I might actually pull through.
I think it helps that I hear my boss' stomache churning every two minutes or so and see her quickly disappear to the bathroom 18 times a day.
I know I'm not alone.
That combined with the fact that I do, actually, eat a lot of sauerkraut and I know I still, to this day, couldn't manage any better than the B that I got in Business Calculus at university.