I ran across this the other day in my "archives"...ha.
Sometimes when I'm not feeling like writing, I'll just type. This is something I wrote about a week into Lent this year. My fasting experience. I happened upon it earlier when I was getting things together for my reading in Creative Writing. It made me laugh. Thought I'd share.


I titled it--"An Ode to fasting, blenders, and soy milk."


I read a story today about God, and he was wearing a cardigan.
I thought it was funny at first, and then I realized that was pretty appropriate because I’ve been having one of those weird God days here lately.
He’s been around in this weird, funny kind of light, and I can very much imagine him in a cardigan.
Strange.
I’m fasting for Lent. Fasting because that’s what you’re supposed to do. I’ve never really fasted before, but it felt appropriate. And when Wednesday came this year, I just knew that was what I was supposed to do.
Forty days with nothing but soups and liquids. Forty days.

Day six I had a break down.

I had just arrived home from a lovely tomato soup dinner with a friend. I got home and I was angry and hungry and very unsatisfied.
I burst through the door of my apartment and declared extravagantly to my roommate that tonight was officially “break your fast” night.

No rules. No shame. Just cupcakes.

I had been craving cupcakes for a week, and after dinner I had gone and purchased the big book of cupcakes and tonight we would feast.

She looked at me like I had lost my mind, but I paid her no attention. I had cupcakes on the brain. And in a moment, I was on my way to the grocery.

I stood in front of the cake mix for fifteen minutes arguing with God in a cardigan. He was relentless. Eventually I gave up, opting to walk around the rest of the store a bit and clear my head. I had some other things to pick up. I would just come back.

I circled the store a few times, and had a conversation with my maker. Never in my life have I had trouble purchasing anything that I wanted to purchase, especially something that I went to the store specifically to pick up. This was unnatural. It made me uneasy.

Was God going to make me feel this bad about solid food for the entire forty days?

I hovered in the bakery for a while, staring down the cupcakes in the freezer. My mouth watered, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen, my hands stuck to the buggy. After a few minutes of this, I gave up. There would be no cupcakes for me tonight. No freaking cupcakes. I had bought that book for nothing.

I circled the store a few more times, trying to raise myself out of the depression that was setting rapidly. I couldn’t go home dejected with nothing to show for my trip.

I began grabbing at things, determined to make this shopping trip worth my while.

When I arrived back the apartment half an hour later, I was the proud owner of three new pairs of shoes in nauseatingly bright hues, a blender, a gallon of chocolate soy milk (which I had never tasted before in my life), and three cartons of fresh berries that I was determined to blend up with my new blender.

Tomorrow, I would make fruit juice.