Day II

Yesterday I woke up feeling slow and relaxed. Everything was nice, and the day was pretty and warm (for Chicago March). And things went really well at work. In the afternoon, I got hungry again, and just couldn't stop being hungry. But, focusing on my work, and setting up for the retreat last night, it really wasn't so bad.

By the time the retreat came, it really wasn't so good. I didn't feel that hot, I was really hungry, and antsy, and rather puny-feeling as well. But I was working with teenagers, and not even teenagers I know or have worked with before. But this was service. This was my passion. This was my goal, and my heart, and I did it well. My group really enjoyed the retreat, and we had a lot of fun, even though I didn't feel good. They never even knew it.

During church afterwards, I prayed with my eyes closed, relaxing and just *feeling* how I felt. I didn't try to ignore it, or shove it away, or overcome it. I just experienced it. And it wasn't nice at all. But that was okay. It's okay if it hurts sometimes. It's okay to be uncomfortable. I need to remember that sometimes, because I get caught up in wanting to make things relaxed and easy, wanting to make life 'not difficult'. But it's not right for everything to be easy. There is no purpose to a problem-free life.

On the bus home, I went to sit in the back like always. There was this huge man eating Kentucky Fried Chicken. I smiled at him and told him it smelled good, and he smiled back, wiping his mouth, and said in a friendly manner, "How are you doing? Yeah, it is good." And I sat down, and leaned back and closed my eyes and smelled his food. I didn't even want to eat it. I didn't feel hungry anymore, just puny. But damn, did it smell good. And it was strange, and nice in a way, to just sit there, enjoying the smell of it, but not wanting to eat it. We wished each other a good night when I got off the bus, because once you say hello, you have to say goodbye.

At home, I made Peppermint Tea and curled up on the couch with Michael, who immediately set about making me laugh, and making me feel better. And after awhile I did, so I debated then whether to break my fast, or see how long I could go. I figured that it was a good time to decide, when I felt fine. Because that way, I wasn't breaking because I couldn't take it. I had taken it. And I had still done my job, and had still served others, and had still made a stranger smile on the bus. 48 hours without solid food and I had felt good and I had felt bad and I had never lost my temper. I had not messed up or failed something because of it. All the things I had been afraid of happening had not happened. And granted, it was only two days, but now I know that if something happens so that I cannot consume the food I am used to consuming, I can still do what needs to be done, for a while at any rate.

And I decided that I just didn't want to feel like that again unless I had to. So I'll wait until I have to. And then I went and made some mashed potatoes, and Michael wandered around, randomly shoving other foods at me.

Today the world is beautiful, even though it's March already but it's snowing again. Work is still going well. I'm getting everything set up for the play, and have been asked to get a group together to do a station for the Via Cruces on Good Friday morning. I feel really good. And it's good to know that food is not a jailor to me. I don't have to be afraid of my hypoglycemia anymore. I can 'not eat' and still accomplish all the things I need to get done, and that is a weight lifted off of me.

It's nice.