reinje's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Mark of the Beast I�m not going to lie to you. The cafeteria here at Logan McDandy is really quite fantastic. It took me several weeks to invest in the little doo-dad that allows you to purchase food, Mark-of-the-Beast style, electronically. Now that I have been programmed with the number of the beast, I find myself salivating at the prospect of a cafeteria-type meal every day at approximately 10:42 A.M. This does not bode well for my high-protein, high-fibre diet. But then again, do high-fibre diets ever themselves bode well? Growing up amongst the Mennonites, in the schtruck (�the sticks,� to quote Taipraita), on the icy arctic (please say both �k��s, please) tundra of Canada, back when we fetched water in buckets (I honest to God still have an aunt who does that, sadly), back when we walked uphill both ways to school (just try and stop me)�we did not go to a school that had a cafeteria. I was astonished to learn that He (and He grew up in a place more remote than I) went to a school that had a cafeteria. With hot meals, plural. Breakfast and lunch. How cosmopolitan is that? The only kids who did not brown-bag it in Cloverfield were the town-kids, and then only the ones who lived on Third Street, just by the school. No one envied them. I used to envy other kids� lunches sometimes. I ate a lot of bologna sandwiches. The texture was an awful lot like I would imagine eating a frog would feel like. My mother also hit upon the idea one day to do a whole tuna-egg-mayo mixture, and from then on it was either bologna, tuna, egg, or tuna-and-egg. Two cookies, and an apple or a desiccated orange. It sounded so classy when my brother Eunice said it, �That orange is desiccated.� Na jo, as I was saying, we only had a cafeteria when we got to the big high school in Stony Brook and even then I brought my own lunch, a sandwich and a half, no cookies, carrot sticks and some kind of fruit. At 4:30 when I got off the bus I would run to the pantry and stick my finger in the peanut butter jar just to stop the DT�s. Seriously. I consistently ate the same thing in high school, and it was never enough, and I was constantly fighting tremors from lack of food. My mom would exclaim, aghast, at the sight of a big finger-dent in the peanut butter jar, but I couldn�t help it. When I was 16, I fainted during our high school Christmas program. It happened right in the middle of the homecoming queen�s (we don�t have homecoming queens in the Community, or cheerleaders - it�s not so popular in Canada, but you get the idea) rendition of O Holy Night. She got to �fall on your knees,� and down I went, narrowly missing clipping my head on the sharp corner of a large speaker. My best friend�s sister thought I was going all Pentecostal on everyone. She is now part of a charismatic church that doesn�t believe that Christians get sick, or even die. My friend K�s brother, my sister�s age, started crying because he thought I had keeled over and died. My friend K later did just that, after a horrible and tragic car accident. Food or no food I was never really into the cafeteria thing until now. Here�s just an example of some of the delectable food they have to eat here: For their specialty sandwich on Wednesday, they have curried vegetables, mango chutney & smoked duck. They have a Greek menu every day, including Lamb Brochettes with Cucumber & Tomatoes, Keftedas, and Honey Roasted Pork with Horta. I have no idea what most of those things are, but I�m sure I will try them. This is interesting: on Tuesday they have Sloppy Joe�s. �Sloppy Joe�s what?� I find myself asking (side note: Travelinman, I believe it is accurate to write New Year�s Eve, since the Eve belongs to the New Year. I only responded to that since you asked twice.). Food is funny. I think it sometimes matters more to me when I have less distractions. Food can also provide distraction from life. Though I hope I am mostly over my food issues now, I approached food in the same way as I did cleaning - before Reinje reformed, that is. Lists, shame, guilt, feeling both in control and wildly out of control all at once. I will never fully reform of course. And I suppose I am grateful that I have compulsions in all of the �acceptable� ways (thanks to the Community!!!), as opposed to making lists of all the illicit drugs I have used that day and keeping a tally of how much they cost me, or their caloric content perhaps. Are we control freaks better off when we channel our energy into exercising, music, cleaning, or food? These are certainly more acceptable addictions, socially. What does it cost us, though, all those years of truly believing we are Living Right (because we are), but not stopping to check and see if we are truly free? Can I get an Amen? - Reinje 1:38 p.m. - 2006-01-09 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||