One of my Mean Fasting Moods strikes

And this is what I wrote in the morning:

Hi, I’m in one of my really “mean fasting moods.”

I was!

I fast once a week. Most of the time, it goes relatively uneventfully. I have a very small cup of black coffee in the morning, skip breakfast, skip lunch, maybe a half cup of green tea, come home, eat dinner, which is about 24 hours after my previous feeding. At this stage of hunger, even the plainest and most unmemorable morsel sends my stomach into ecstatic fits. I’m thinking of trying a 2-day fast. I know I can do it!

The benefits of intermittent fasting seem pretty conclusive (in my mind), but of course everything can be brought to question by the proper learned expert. Once you involve intelligent people of science, you can find a nutritionist who would point out that fasting is either harmful or has no effect on your physiology. I don’t know, I’m no scientist, but I tend to believe that intermittent fasting has some beneficial long term effects. I’ve always believed if we can live in a state that is synchronous with how we lived through hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, the healthier and sturdier we will be. By mimicking the “hardships” and lifestyles of our primitive ancestors, the likelier we are to avoid the pitfalls of 21st century physiological implosion.

If nothing else, assume this is all junk science, there are still a couple of inarguable benefits of fasting. First, fasting is a holy, ascetic art. I feel it elevates my mood and state of mind. Excessive eating is burdensome to the body and soul. With a full stomach, our body but marshal most of its forces toward the digestive system in order to process the undigested food waiting to disperse its nutritional energies throughout our body. Digestion, though it’s mainly invisible to us, aside from the occasionally embarrassing intestinal gurgle, is intensive work for our internal organs. During these “fed” periods, the body is unable to commit much of its resources towards other bodily functions, such as creative or intellecutal pursuits. Actually, I usually post on this blog immediately after dinner, which just reaffirms my point since we cannot call this any of the previously mentioned “pursuits.” Secondly, fasting saves money. You’re essentially shopping for 6 days of food, not 7. That’s the hidden benefit monks don’t boast of.

My fasting days are generally calm. Once in a while, however…I fall into a funk, a real emotional stupor and everything absolutely bothers the hell out of me. I’m not a great lover of people in general (in case you couldn’t tell), but during my Mean Fasting Moods, I actively dislike people and in some respects, I tend to be provocative or antagonistic. Meaning I act like a bitch. It’s terrible. I never feel like this except during certain fasting mornings. I’m not sure what precipitates these moods. Most of the time I don’t experience this. If anything, fasting days usually mellow me out and leave me a bit drained due to lack of nourishment. But mornings like this I’m ready for a fight or a revolution. These are the mornings when I would be most apt to simply get up and leave this civilized charade behind and venture out on my own, alone, me and the clothes I’m wearing. I have no patience or tolerance and I can’t help but see through the artificial veneer of civility and materialism which defines our modern age. I see through it and it looks so phony. I want to smother it. I hate it. My mean fasting moods turn me into a an aggressive outcast.

I feel crowded and as if the mass of humanity is encroaching upon my personal space and I wish I could shake everyone off. It’s a spiritually claustrophobic sensation. There is nowhere for me to go and I can’t breathe and a sea of moronic expressions, deer in the headlights, surround me uttering equally moronic trivialities which make my ears bleed. If everyone could leave me alone and just be quiet. I was busy but bored. I didn’t want to deal with anything. I would have loved to walk out of that corporate cesspool. I went to a website where I’ve been trying to come up with a clever bumper sticker for my car and I fiddled around with one, letting my mood dictate its design. I came up with this.

That was a damned catchy line.
I liked that I chose not to capitalize any of the words. All lower case speaks to an apathetic ennui that can’t be bothered to observe convention. The very sentiment flaunts my disgust with rules to begin with. Capitalization is fruitless. It’s make believe. It accomplishes nothing other that to fulfill our own petty hierarchical expectations of how this world should hum.

I might order one for my car.