Day 81

Last night was one of weird dreams. I mean, we're talking a breed of dreams that were truly bizarre and not at all restful. A brief and overly tame example: In one, my TA made an appearance as my roommate. Her nickname for me was vegetable.

Odd, yes?

But perhaps fitting giving the unexpected epiphany that would follow into my head space during my waking hours the next day.

(Side note: Is there a word for the thought process that rests somewhere between realization and epiphany? If so, please share to be inserted into the above sentence. Shmanks.)

In case you're lost - and let's be honest, this is a fairly surreal start to a post - come back in and we'll all regroup quick.

Today, I am talking about vegetables. Soon I will be talking about the eaters of vegetables, commonly known as vegetarians. And by soon I mean now.

My step-father was a vegetarian for thirty years. It was a choice birthed mostly from a '70s inspired journey of spirituality or some type of hippie something-or-other, and one that for reasons far beyond my small realm of comprehension stuck.

Still, you'll notice that's all in the past tense. My mother, a lover of all things carnivorous had had enough of the practice and told him in a few more words that he would either starting eating the meat she made the family or starve. Well, a man's got to eat and so he crossed the line into a world of roasts and pork fat (in our house bacon and butter are practically canonized).

And do you know what? He liked it.

(Now between you and me, she'd been sneaking bacon and chicken stock into his meals for years, to rave reviews might I add, but in this case ignorance was bliss, and likely the secret to her persuasive success.)

My step-father and I are often at odds about many things, often because we both have an unfortunate propensity to get pleasure out of being difficult, and this combined with several other factors too lengthy to be mentioned here, was the reason I landed so hard on the concept of vegetarianism.

It's too picky, thought I. It's too time consuming and expensive. It's high maintenance. It's completely unnecessary. And so on. In sort, vegetarianism was just too ________.

Overall, my own solitary experience with vegetarians made me think that the lifestyle was selfish. I've been rethinking this as of late.

My good friend and future roommate  (lets call her M. ) requested cooking lessons for next year when our co-habitation begins. I happily obliged. I love to cook. Love it. Food is a joy I inherited (at times reluctantly) from my mom, the stay-at-home-foodie. And so it was with much imaginative excitement that I started a mental list of favorite recipes I wanted to share with this darling girl.

Can you see where this is headed? Yup. She's a Vege.

How could this be happening? I just barely escaped my last encounter with their kind. At last my world was righted back onto its herbivorous axis. And now the universe is dumping another one on my lap?! What's up universe? Not. Cool.

My mother took the news with somber shock. It was even suggested that this might not be the best roommate situation after all. "Are you sure about this?" she inquired with much graveness. "Yes," was the solid reply.

Really, if I thought about it, when did I ever eat meat at home? Hardly ever. In fact, when my mom took me for groceries during a brief visit she was surprised at the lack of butcher aisle loot. Grains and produce and dairy filled my cart and later my cupboards.

I can't take credit for any "wise" buying habits. In fact, if I had a dollar for all the chicken breasts in my freezer...

But here's the thing, I'm lazy and impatient. I don't want to wait for meat to thaw. I'm hungry now. Besides, I lack the foresight to take it out in the morning to be room-temp by dinner. Also, meat scares me. To cook, I mean. If I under-cook a carrot, it's just crunchy, whereas if I under-cook meat, I die. I'll take a carrot, thankyouverymuch.

Well anyways, the whole incident got shuffled along by other things and was soon forgotten, that is until I stumbled upon this. (Go ahead. Click the link. It's important. I'll wait.)

A year ago I was deep in a post hibernation, homesick, no boy, funk. This manifested itself in overeating and I ended my freshman year of college the heaviest I'd ever been. Ever. By lots. I thought the weight would drop quickly once home, but instead it just hung on through the summer, sticking unflatteringly to my body like Crisco to the side of a measuring cup. I looked awful. I felt worse.

Today, the bathroom scale shows me a weight below what I was even in high school. And while life is still difficult and my head buzzes daily with concerns for the future, my body image isn't on my lists of worries.  And there aren't words for how grateful I am for that.

Now, I can fit comfortably in all of my clothes not just a baggy fraction. I don't scour websites for healthy snack suggestions of diet tips. I eat what's around and the rest takes care of itself. And you know what? I look pretty. Can I say that? Because its true. (I think.) I feel pretty too.

And maybe, just maybe, I can credit all of this to my unconscious decision to eat meat sparingly. To join the Veges, so to speak. To obey this oft forgotten commandment.

M. will be in Europe from May to late June, and I know that in her absence I will miss the grace and fun she is undoubtedly going to bring to our home.

But while she's gone, I'll stay busy in the kitchen, brushing up on some vegetarian recipes to share when she returns. Because, to be honest, I think she's probably on to something.