The Power of The Balls

So this is a little heady and I’m not sure if I’m going to get my requisite 1000 words out of it today.

I had my little (or not so little) Sausage Ball experiment yesterday and I kept popping those fuckers in my mouth.

Finally I get to the place where I’m walking around the house talking to myself which…ISN’T as outlandish a circumstance as you might reasonably expect. But I realize I can’t understand what the hell I’m saying because my mouth is full of sausage balls. (There, that one’s for free, you fucking animals.)

“is is ucking eediculuf” I mumbled, then swallowed.

“Fuck it. I’m not eating for a few days.” Thus, at 8:00 last night began a four day fast, starting that minute (actually 7:57 if I’m being a dick about it) and ending with the pizza Rick is likely to have at the event on Thursday night.

When I fast it’s a zero calorie affair. Water, tea, diet soda, zero cal gatorade (electrolytes) and electrolite tabs. Maybe the odd nodoz.

But aside from that I consume nothing. No alcohol, nothing.

Except, you know, some cigars, owing to their properties as an appetite suppressant…and because I really REALLY enjoy them.

Normally day one of a fast is the absolute fucking nightmare people all anticipate out of fasting, consumed after the first few hours by hunger. It’s the hump to be gotten over, the wall that stops most casual people.

The second day is really peculiar. You wake up feeling really crisp, sharp. I wouldn’t say you’re “not hungry.” But it’s just not such an all-consuming thing, it’s just an ancillary fact, a thing going on in the background.

From day two it’s pretty smooth sailing for a couple/few days. The biggest problem you have to deal with really is the habit of eating, rather than the hunger itself. You start realizing how much of your day is punctuated and partitioned by food rituals for no appreciable reason other than cultural convention.

It’s really quite strange.

But I noticed something quite strange today, as I puttered around Hendersonville doing most of my chores before coming in here to sit down and get after it a bit.

I feel…fine.

Sure, the pull of all the standard habitual behavior is pulling at me, as expected. After all I haven’t done this in quite a while. Int fact…I don’t remember how long it’s been. Six months? A year? A year seems too long, but it might actually be.

As I sat here and pondered my cigar for a bit, before lighting it up I had a truly uncharacteristic degree of mental clarity for the first day of a fast. It was almost meditative and I ended up just kinda sitting here and soaking in it for about a half hour, pretending to work, zenning out.

I knew once I started doing anything that it would, much like any purely meditative state, it would start to dissipate. But the day goes on and there’s stuff to be done.

Not that I did everything on my list. But I got 2/3 of the things I’ve been kvetching to myself about and avoiding out of the way.

Upon nonzero reflection I realize that my mental state has been an awful lot better on the whole for the last I don’t know how long. Not that I’m anywhere close to actually being on top of things. I mean fuck, some days it’s like shoveling against the tide. But life always feels like that. It’s an illusion even when it’s the reality.

But most things are moving forward. Most things.

I don’t know. I kinda only had about 500 words today. I’m beginning to wonder if it would be reasonable to loophole myself by putting up “a total of a thousand words” rather than “a post of a thousand words” a day. It would definitely be a bit weaselly, which rather suggests an answer if I’m being honest.

I guess what I’ll do is hang it up for now and come back to it tonight.

Tim, and Frank are here. Eddie is inbound. So I’m off for now.

… fast forward 8 hours …


So I packed up my laptop, put all my dolls and dishes in the truck and moved from my perch on the high-top and went to sit down with Tim and Frank. I put the two big bags of sausage balls on the table. They had a couple and…well, let’s just say they enjoyed them.

I smoked my cigar and stared at them…and they stared back. The sausage balls, not Tim and Frank.

Then Kevin showed up.

I lit another cigar and still they stared at me and I stared back at them.

I blinked, by which I mean I went to the men’s room. They sat there all smug in their sausage cheeseness and stared back at me when I got back. I sat back down, squinted, then said “Fuck it” grabbed one, and popped it in my mouth.

Fucking delicious.

I thought about all the stuff I’d written, well…up there about fasting and how good it felt and just figured…eh. I didn’t figure much of anything. Just wanted some damned sausage balls.

So I thought a bit about it, as I plowed through half a dozen of those delicious fuckers and came to the tentative conclusion that I just wasn’t THAT committed to fasting. I’d gotten on the scale yesterday morning and was horrified by what I saw, then couldn’t stop stuffing the damned things in my mouth when they came out of the oven.

Frankly I’m going to give myself that one. They’re really tough to resist, particularly when your whole house smells like bacon and really sharp Irish cheddar.

I really figured I’d end up wrapping myself around a fucking post with angst about the whole thing. But I’d started the day off in far too good a mood and too clear a mental state to let that kind of horseshit get a hold of me.

Besides, I’m not ACTUALLY trying to torture myself.