Monday...two weeks on the calendar. I'd love to report I just blissfully swam through Easter weekend, but alas, this couldn't be farther from the truth. The fact is, I had a meltdown. Two, really. The first came on Saturday, when I violated on of lifes ultimate truths; Don't go food shopping when you're hungry. Thanks to my cupboard being bare I didn't get to juice for lunch, then realized I better get to the store before dinner time...so I strolled in to the Super Fresh foolishly thinking I'm only getting fruits and veggies, lemons and limes. As you could guess, the fruit and vegetable section in my store just so happens to be located right next to the salad bar and take away sections, for those who want their own ready made lunch or dinner. Simply out of curiosity I wandered by the salad bar, and before I knew it was salivating over what the sign said was grilled chicken but looked like the meat version of fake crap legs you see from time to time...in other words, it looked inedible. But try telling that to my stomach...nooooooooooo. In less than a blink of an eye I had a strip in my sweaty palm, quickly deposited in my awaiting mouth. Since this was the first bite of anything in almost two weeks, instead of abating my appetite, naturally it only inspired more hunger. At precisely the moment after wolfing down the chicken, an aroma caught my attention...looking around for the culprit, I noticed the rotisserie chicken in the ready to go section, and though this sight didn't trigger a mad dash over, the big, plump potato wedges sitting next to them most certainly did...and like a seasoned jewelry thief I sauntered past and swept two juicy fries right out of the tin. Thinking alarm bells would soon go off and security beckoned, I high tailed it out of there. Luckily the cops weren't called, and I escaped unharmed. It's such an amazing thing, being captive to hunger and how it simultaneously cuts off oxygen to the part of the brain that operates reason and logic. I didn't have a single thought while skulking around the salad bar and rotisserie chicken, it was all impulse. By the time I made it to the checkout aisle (and digested the wedges) I had to laugh at my pathetic outburst. I was rabid for only a few brief seconds, but there was no stopping my transgressions...
My second breakdown may have been a tad more nefarious. I stopped by my friend Butch's house for a little Easter get together his family was having...Everyone was out on the porch drinking and chatting, and though I had kindly refused the offer of a drink (I wasn't staying for dinner, either) my buddy Butch had his drink sittin' next to me while we discussed terribly important topics like Easter Bunnies and such, his bourbon and coke started whispering in my ear. I swear it was wooing me. And like some body double swooped down and took over, I watched my right hand slowly take Butch's drink and bring it to my lips...once. Twice. Three times. Finally he said, 'dude, why don't you just let me pour you one?'. No no, I told him. Don't want one. Really. Two minutes later, when dinner was announced as ready, I thought I was heading for the door, when I found myself following Butch to the bar. He poured himself another, which I promptly picked up and took two swigs of. It was the strangest thing. Again, no thinking, no conscious decision making. Just instinct. I didn't pour my own. I did leave right then. But why did I have those swigs of his drink?
I like to think it's as easy as remembering how during the weekend, when I was at Quaker meeting in the morning working on my meditating or contemplating almost two weeks of my juicing cleanse under my belt, thinking I was due a break of some kind. People have expressed some concern for my body dealing with such a long break from real eating, thinking I'm going a little over the top...and some part of my ego got hold of that, pretty soon turning it into a justification of sorts...I deserve a break. Some food. A drink. Something! I look back now and realize there was a little storm brewing in me. I called my friend Geoff. Never heard back. And I left it at that. I didn't follow up again and again, as I promised myself. My conviction started to waver, lo and behold my old defense mechanisms pop up...
By today I could see the picture clearly. One step leading to another. And though frankly it irks me I managed to go almost two weeks with only the one bad day, today I humbly acknowledged to myself this is a work in progress. I'm a work in progress. And to quit with the judgment...you know, if I ever meet the freakin' Genie with the magic bottle that grants me 3 wishes, the first one is going to be to not have any judgment in my life anymore. It is my achilles heel, and it torments me so. The only good thing about it anymore is how I know something is going on when I'm in it, so I begin to look, I start an inquiry...one day perhaps I'll be able to start the inquiry without suffering from judgment first. Perhaps.
There is always something to work on, isn't there??