It’s been somewhat of a strange day.
I woke up at 5:30 am and didn’t have my newfound gumption that has been propelling me forward as of late. I knew it was going to be a bad hair day.
And it was. My normally obsequious strands just wouldn’t lay right. A rebellious flip was giving me the middle finger. And so, a cloud of malaise settled in as I drifted out the door and headed to work.
A prodigious misanthropy* swelled as I selected my drive-time music. Leviathan was a tad too depressing, so I switched the day’s theme to Burzum instead. I don’t care about your opinions on Burzum—go write a blog about it or something.
*It is worth noting that my days can often be characterized as generally misanthropic.
As I got to work, I kept to myself mostly. When I’m not particularly in a good mood, I tend to get enveloped in my work. So I slogged it out, even though it wasn’t enough to entirely extinguish my loathsomeness.
But a guy I work with—whom I adore, no-homo—offered me something that any-other-day-me would have balked at instantly: a meatball.
That’s it. A meatball. An meatball. One ball of meat. Meat, balled.
I felt prototypical me attempting to squeeze itself out of the cracks, up and through my vocal chords, in the form of rote response. But the verb that is me, continually trying to change and adapt, quashed that old asshole.
"Yes, I will take a meatball."
This deserves a little background, otherwise this is just another inane story, which I am predictably keen on. But, like I said, today has been somewhat of a strange day.
For the past 16 years, I have lived a plant-based lifestyle. And not the type where most poseurs have cheat days. No. For a large stint of it I even used the v-word.
Over time though, I slowly disconnected from that stringent label and opted for the "plant-based" one instead. What initially started as a way to rid myself of a Baconator-a-day diet, then transformed into a lazy animal rights ethos, eventually centered itself back on a healthy lifestyle, mostly label-free. I say mostly, because it’s usually the non-plant-based asshole that wants to make a big deal out of it.
We can debate all day on what diet is healthy or not. I don’t give two fucks. Again, go write a fucking blog about it or spool it out on Twitter.
Without getting too far in the weeds and elbow-deep in the mud, the point I’m getting at is: I’ve abstained from eating animal products for 1.6 decades. For a vast majority of it, it was the unhealthy processed shit. But god damnit, that shit was tasty. Subjective, I know.
C’est la vie.
Je pense donc je suis.
Va te faire enculer, oui?
I’ve been eating healthier over the past 2-3 weeks. Tracking macros. Avoiding restaurants. Tack that on with a bout of sobriety—today marks day 23 without alcohol or THC (and all of its gas-station cousins)—and I’m feeling pretty remarkable. Coffee has been my only vice, but this recent bit of clarity has been a welcome high. And the subsequent mental change is precipitating a paralleled physical transformation.
Mind you, there’s still a lot of fat in my brain. But I’m working on it.
And then there’s this meatball.
I have been considering hopping off this 16-year-long train ride for about 6 months now. And today I grabbed the pole as the cart whizzed by, but I swung around right back into my seat.
And it felt great.
I’d be lying if I told you it was as easy as popping one of those succulent balls right in my mouth. But the Berlin wall stood fast between me and that plate of sin and mockery.
As I took my first bite, there were shudders. Was I shivering from the cold of sloughing off my old skin? Surely, there’s evidential scurf lying about. And as the dust settled from that first re-habituation, it became easier to eat the next bite, and the next, and the next. Until both orbs were fully consumed and my rendezvous with meat was consummated.
Don’t get me wrong. This does not mean I’m back on meat full-time. I will gradually ingratiate myself. And, in due time, I will have fully shaken off this vegan vestment. And yet, I won’t fully reject my old self. If vegan is on the menu, then so be it. But the old balls-and-chain have been snipped. I feel freer than I did yesterday. And thus I reintroduce myself continually to the world each day.
It’s nice to meat you.