Tuesday, March 27, 2007


Completely unrelated to writing...

Sorry I missed my Monday blog. I was fasting. I had to have some routine bloodwork done today. It was "fasting" bloodwork, meaning I couldn't eat or drink for eight hours prior. (Don't want to trip you up by using highly medical terms.)

Now, I usually fast every night. I rarely (if ever) get up to eat in the middle of the night. So fasting was not a problem. But what followed the fast was the problem: morning.

Mornings and me don't mix. I have to start my mornings an hour before I actually get up. My son, God bless him, makes coffee for me and brings it in before he leaves for school. I sip it. I hit snooze and hope my coffee cup isn't in the way. I do that four or five times. Eventually, I get up (sooner if I spill the coffee), and I hit the carpet... well, shuffling somewhat quickly. I don't think I could do mornings at a faster pace if someone was thrashing my behind.

Shower, put my eyes in, send my little guy to get dressed, do the hair, help the princess to get dressed, go down to the dungeon in search of my own clean clothes (in the perpetual laundry pile), send the little guy to redress since he never gets it right the first time, do a load of laundry while I'm still down there, come up, put my face on, find socks for the princess, find shoes for the princess, gather my work stuff, pour more coffee to take with, ...eventually we all get out the door. Not when I'm "fasting". Then I'm actually slowing. It took me three times as long to do everything today.

Plus, when you're fasting, time slows. Sitting and waiting for the lab lady to call my name took hours. It was at least ten minutes. I was hungry, uncaffeinated, and tired. When the lab *itch called "Pat" three times, I didn't answer. I almost punched her when she said,"Pat-ti?" in a terribly-annoyed-because-nobody-answered-her voice. My name's not PAT! I thought better of the punch before I actually got to the little lab room with her. She had needles. It wouldn't be a fair fight, especially since she still had to jab one of them into a vein. Besides, I was too slow to fight. I was fasting.

My fasting day started slow. Of course my body knew that the 24 ounce WaWa coffee at 10 AM is not the usual kid-made coffee, sipped from the tall periwinkle mug while still cozy and supine in my bed. No, coffee that's drunk while standing up just isn't the same. There's no time for it to diffuse into my system and help me to gain momentum before getting up. It's just boom, there in my stomach, taking its good ol' time and kicking in way too slowly. The whole day dragged by.

My conclusion of the day's events: you can't ever speed up the slowing that happens after fasting. Why did I ever decide to do this on a Tuesday?


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