Why My Stomach Is Meeting My Back

I am hungry. Not that, "oh, wouldn't it be nice to have a snacky-snack" hungry. And not that, "we've been waiting on the rice drop for three days" hungry, either. I'm more of a "oh, I decided (on a whim no less) that I was going to try alternate day fasting, and I failed miserably to prepare myself" hungry.

True story:

So, yesterday, to give myself a break from all that is 2020, I'm scrolling through YouTube and I stumble upon a video of a young woman who lost 100 pounds in a relatively short amount of time. I watched about four minutes of the 25 minute video before I decided that, "yep, this sounds like the right thing for me to try!" I need to lose a ridiculous amount of weight, so why shouldn't I at least give this a shot. I mean, it is 2020. What could possibly go wrong?

So, without any preparation, I launched myself into this fasting deal. Now, let me be honest, here. I knew that I wouldn't make it with absolutely NOTHING to eat, so I struck a deal with myself last night. I would drink one meal replacement smoothie during the day. I also told myself that it would be okay to have a salad or a few grapes and cherries if things got really bad. So those were the rules. 

I woke up STARVING. This only happens when I have eaten too late at night. To be honest, the thought of fasting today worried me last night and I stopped and got a chicken sandwich after dropping my mom off at work. It was before midnight, so I was technically in the good! Anyway...

...even though I'm STARVING, I commit to the fast and decide that I'm getting the smoothie for breakfast. I wanted to wait until lunch time, but my stomach was making these obscene noises that were grossing me out. I go to pick up my mom from work, but I'm a little early, so I have to drive around for a bit before she comes out. I loop around her place of business and spy the Wendy's about a block down the road. I can either keep straight and go get us the honey butter chicken biscuit that is actually better than the one at Whataburger and definitely better than chicken McGriddle at McDonalds, or I can make this right at the light and go back to the front of the building where my mom should be coming out soon.

I take the right. My stomach voices its displeasure. 

My mom gets in the car, hungry for breakfast from one of the fine dining establishments listed above. I tell her that I am fasting, but we can get a smoothie from Smoothie King. Since she likes smoothies, she cottons to that idea. She does not offer to join me in my fast. She does not cotton to that idea. We get our smoothies, mine a 32 ounce chocolate Slim-n-Trim, sub almond milk, with peanut butter and spinach, hers a 32 ounce Ginger Mango smoothie with pineapples and dates. We toast to our health and set about taking our breakfast.

I'm not sure how, but I managed to avoid brain freeze while pouring my smoothie down my gullet, but I did. No worries, I was set for the day. Dropped my mom off and headed home.

It wasn't long before my stomach started asking for sustenance again ("food, glorious foooood!") but I ignored the whispers, the pangs in my belly. I was bigger than my hunger, literally and physically. I worked through the hunger until I no longer felt it. Then I messed up and walked to the bathroom.

                              I'M HUNGRY!!!

                             

my stomach yelled at me. (side note: when my stomach yelled at me, it sounded just like my Nephew B-1, imitating Amethyst from Steven Universe. Anyway...) The smoothie was gone and I was left with a roaring digestive system that demanded Chick-Fil-A, chili, tetrazzini, chickpea tuna, powdered doughnuts, one-dollar Frito burrito with avocado ranch sauce...SOMETHING OTHER THAN NOTHING!!!

"Shut up," I said quietly, snapping my waist beads against my belly. "We're fasting, remember?"

My stomach pouted, "I didn't sign up for this $4!t. At least give me some grapes or a few cherries. Something to keep me from dying slow." But I didn't give in. I poured myself 32 ounces of water and sipped that through a straw like it was summertime sun brewed iced sweet tea with lemon slices. And that was cool. For about an hour.

I'M HUNGRY YOU FAT HEFFA!!!

my stomach yelled at me again, this time, being mad disrespectful. I snapped the waist beads again, urging it to shut. the. heck. up. I filled up my water cup again and the first sip made me gag. This was not Lipton and my stomach was not having it. Or wanted to have it. Or something. Anyway...

I went to the kitchen and scrounged around until I had a few spinach leaves, three pieces of turkey lunch meat and a piece of cheese in the palm of my hand. I rolled it all together and slowly devoured it, hating myself with every bite. I had failed. I didn't even stick to the plan and just eat grapes or cherries or a salad. Unless you counted this deconstructed sandwich as salad. And I did count it as salad!! (I also have a tendency to count chocolate as salad, so meh. Small victories and whatnot.) My day was saved on a technicality.

(So we will fast forward past the part where I was SO hungry that I decided to make myself a proper salad, but didn't because a bottle of (fake) bacon bits THAT I JUST BOUGHT THE OTHER DAY was empty and I called my nephews to see if they had eaten my bacon bits the day they were at my house and because I didn't have bacon bits, I didn't make the salad and stayed hungry.) 

The empty bacon bits bottle/jar/container and me not making the salad must have flipped a switch in my head. I realized that I didn't have to have anything. Sure I was hungry because I hadn't eaten, but I wasn't dying from starvation. I figured that if I wasn't hungry enough to make the salad because of the missing BACON BITS, then maybe food was actually optional in this moment. I would soon find out.

While I was talking to my nephews about my missing bacon bits, my mom asked me to come take her to get something to eat. Not that she does not have a pantry and refrigerator full of food, she just needed her fast food fix. I headed to her house to pick her up. She has my bacon bits eating nephews in tow. We head to Whataburger, where the onion rings smell like deep fried magic.

As I pull into the drive thru, I realize this is a make-or-break moment. I can order some food. My mom won't judge me and those backseat bacon bit thieves better not judge me. Or, I can stick to my guns and not order anything and continue fasting. I also realize that my jaws are tight and I have been grinding my teeth all dang day. I do a few jaw exercises to loosen things up and pull up to the speaker. I order three meals, one for my mom, and one for each of the goobs in my back seat. EACH OF THEM has something that I want. I want a couple of onion rings from my mom. A quarter of Nephew B-1's patty melt sammich. Half of Nephew B-2's chocolate chip cookie. I watch as my mom devours her meal. She never eats the #1 burger in one sitting. She usually gets the smaller #7 burger. But she kills that big burger with extra onions, like she's been waiting on the burger drop for three days.

And my car smells like Texas. And I want a bite. So I ask my mom for..........a little of her half sweet/half unsweet tea. I had a headache and I know it was my sugar-addicted brain jonesin' for a little o' that sweet tea... I took a sip and it was the flattest, over-brewed, no-sugar tastin' a$$ tea I'd ever had the displeasure of sipping. But, it was necessary.

They finish their meals in my car, Whataburger fragrances just wafting up all in my nostrils. My mom orders my nephews to gather their trash and take it to the dumpster. I am grateful, since I don't want to smell the remnants of their food (glorious fooood!). We exchange goodbyes while I promise the boys I'll come back tomorrow. They love their auntie <3. Anyway.....

So, I get home, where my son asks if I'm alright. He says I look melancholy. "I'm okay," I say, "just starving." My stomach is about to start up again. "Cut the crap," I warn it, and snap the beads again while I fill up my water cup again. I find a teabag in my purse that I took from a hotel in Texarkana a couple weeks ago. I put the teabag in the water cup and snap the lid on the cup. Then I sit down to write about my fast. And just like that, the physical hunger is gone. Mentally, I'm still hungry. I want food. Want to taste it in my mouth. Want to feel the different textures of lettuce, bread, mayonnaise, shredded cheese, dorito flavored taco shells, meat, black beans, ANYTHING except the ridges of my tongue. 

But, I'm kinda proud of myself. I fought through it. Even though I had a smoothie and a salad-which, I think today was successful. Let's not pretend that I don't have plans to hit up Taco Bell at the stroke of midnight, but I doubt that I will follow through with that plan. I am so sleepy now and I know I'm not driving anywhere. Especially not when I still have grapes and cherries in my fridge.

And I will do this again on Sunday. Hopefully, I will be better prepared mentally and physically. 

(Side note: this hotel tea is nasty as hell.)

Why I Am Watching Paternity Court Instead of Arguing on Social Media

It has become a morning ritual. I roll over, grab my phone, plod to the bathroom and play an episode of Paternity Court while I go through the morning ritual of washing my face, brushing my teeth, and pretending that I am going to do something with my hair. After Judge Lauren Lake tells the onlookers in the courtroom that they may be seated, the bailiff tells her what case they have on the docket and she thanks him. She then greets the people in the courtroom with, "Good day!" Along with the onlookers, I respond, "Good day," around my toothbrush, my mouth full of Arm and Hammer whitening toothpaste. This is the beginning of my escape.

The world right now is kinda crazy. If you're reading this in the future, I'm talking about 2020. The year that Kenneth Copeland blew the breath of God onto Covid-19 and commanded it to "go!" Covid-19 was mad disobedient and stuck around. This is also the year that Asian murder hornets decided that the Western Hemisphere would be a great place to vacation. This is also the year that America decided that they'd had ENOUGH of the police (and civilians with a superiority complex) being careless with black lives. (Of course I know that other lives are affected by police brutality and civilian ignorance, but I'm black, so black lives are the ones I am going to talk about here. Does that upset you? Please post your own blog then. And I thank you!)

 At first, when the news of Breonna Taylor (who was killed by police in a raid on the wrong house), Ahmaud Arbery (who was killed by civilians trying to make a "citizens arrest"), and George Floyd (who was killed by police when they blocked his airways for eight minutes by kneeling on the man's neck) hit me like a series of head and gut punches, I joined the social media outcry, posting my thoughts, sharing the thoughts of others, and sharing memes.

Almost immediately the protests began. With the protests came rioting, looting and fires. Lots of looting and fires. It was at this point that I began seeing a post being shared that basically stated that the person posting was rooting for the protesters until  the rioting and looting began. This pissed me off to no end. PEOPLE HAD LOST THEIR LIVES AND YOU WITHDRAW YOUR SUPPORT BECAUSE OF LOOTING?1? Wow. Begone, asshat!

I don't know how many social media arguments I engaged in, trying to get people to understand that protesters and rioters were most likely not the same people. That looting is a crime of opportunity. That it has been proven that fires started during situations like this are mostly the result of police using pyrotechnic triple charge gas grenades (say that five times fast!) to disperse the crowd. But of course, my arguments fell on deaf ears. 

I understood the hurt and trauma that some people were feeling. I understand that traumatized people are destructive. I know what it's like to be in so much pain that you want to BREAK something. 

 - let me take a little segue here. Whenever I type the above sentence about breaking something, I always think of that scene in Fight Club when "Jack" (you know "I am Jack's liver...") comments on the brutal beating he gave Angel Face, stating that he wanted to destroy something beautiful. This is actually how I see the riots. Not the looting part. Just the riots. Anyway- 

But here were some of my social media friends from real life, calling the protesters thugs. And not just thugs, but THUGS. All caps. Because I knew these people personally, I felt that I could appeal to their better angels in distinguishing between the protesters, the rioters, and the looters. They were not having it. These people were THUGS and should be treated as such. Oh, and by the way, this was not the right way to protest, in their humble opinion.

**Ain't y'all the SAME Nakers that said that Colin Kaepernick was not protesting the "right" way when he took a peaceful knee during "The Star Spangled Banner"? And then TWISTED the issue and tried to say that he was protesting the flag and the United States, hmmm? Wasn't that y'all? And THEN, when asked to clarify the right way to protest, there is never a clear, succinct answer, just <CRICKETS>.  Clearly y'all Nakers don't know what y'all are talking about. Remain in your lane, then**

My blood, which was already at a steady boil, spilled over. My head and heart and mouth were too full of sadness and anger to try any longer.I could feel my ever-present anxiety ticking up into overdrive. I can't continue to live this way. I lay back in bed, covered my head with my college blanket made with performance fleece, and decided that I was going take a break from social media. I couldn't take the anger anymore. No more videos. No more memes. No more arguments with someone next door or in Russia. I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't want to do it anymore.

So, with the blanket over my head, I opened YouTube and watched the first video that was recommended. Paternity Court. And for 15 minutes, I was treated to a life changing issue that would be quickly solved with a simple DNA test. I shook my head at the absurdity of  the gentleman's denials of paternity based on the child being too light or dark skinned (genetics, brother, learn about them). I laughed at the lady insisting that the gentleman was the father EVEN THOUGH she slept with two other men within the window of conception. And with the onlookers in the court room, I waited with bated breath as Judge Lake took her sweet time reading the results that were prepared by DNA Diagnostics. 

I know the world is burning down around my ears and I should be at attention, with my head on a swivel. But I needed this break. I needed to breathe air and not snort fire like a Brahman bull sitting in the middle of a field (yes! I know bulls don't....you know what, I'm not explaining myself anymore. Good day!)