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Detox

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been detoxing.  That’s right.  No cheeseburgers, no jibaritos, no vanilla malts.  First a vegan diet, then a raw one, now a vegetable juice fast.  Although some of the stuff I’ve had tastes like ass terrible, I did enjoy much of it.  Coconut water, an acquired taste for many, can be mildly addictive #teamvitacoco.  I’m very proud of myself for making it this far.  Heretofore, I’ve had very little food discipline.  I derive way too much pleasure from eating, I guess.  I tried The Master Cleanse for all of six hours, only to end up breaking that fast by eating a delicious, delicious hot dog.  The idea of syrup and cayenne pepper or whatever was ridiculous to me, anyway.

Still, I cannot wait to return to the world of warm, dead food.  Though I wish they’d stop trying to make vegetables and nuts taste like other things, I’ve learned to appreciate the raw foodists and the vegans.  I can’t say I’ll ever permanently join their movement, but I understand.  I had no solid plans to do this detox–like I said I love food too much.  Then I was struck by the idea that detoxing is a way of giving my body, my system a rest.  I see no conversion to living foods in my future; I didn’t do this detox to lose weight–I don’t even own a scale.  I did it because my body needed a break.  In a lot of ways, I think my brain has needed a similar break.

Most Mondays, I climb upon my soapbox, rant about some societal ill, and then go about the business of avoiding my dissertation.  And maybe you read it and go about your own business.  Fact is, somebody said something racist yesterday.  And someone will say something sexist today.  And tomorrow, some homophobe will say something, well, homophobic.  And Fox News or somebody will tell you that all Muslims are terrorists.  And Obama will say something some of us hate and others of us defend.  And I will tell you that I’m still not voting for Obama–or anybody.  And a rapper will liken a black woman to some inanimate object to be (ab)used as he sees fit.  And Target will stop funding anti-gay organizations, but will still run your local apothecary out of business.  And some of us will write.  And many of us will do nothing about the injustices of the world.  Because fighting injustice, in whichever way so few of us choose to do, seems to be the only thing we are doing.  And I guess I’m just not in the mood to sound like a broken record/scratched CD/jacked up mp3 this morning.  I need[ed] a detox.

I needed to give my brain a timeout.  Because really what’s on my mind isn’t Ashley Judd or Obama 2012.  It’s how Palm Sunday makes me miss my great-grandmother.   And I just need[ed] to create space to say that.  My corner of the blogosphere is full of sites that decry the injustices of the world in the same way that the American landscape is full of burger joints.  And the work is needed and all well and good, but one cannot eat that everyday.   And lately, I just can’t.  I had to detox.  I had to, I don’t know, write about basketball for a few weeks. And this week I had to write about…nothing.

Because we all need breaks, right?  Lest we forget what we’re doing, what we’re saying–and why we’re saying it.  And just as the detox showed me that I’m not ready to give up meat and cheese entirely, I do need to eat it sparingly, just like I need to choose the verbal battles I wage here each week.   Otherwise I’m just spinning the same arguments, and no one is listening–not even me.

So in the meantime, I leave you not without your weekly glass of haterade (which surely tastes better than rejuvelac), but with those adorable kids from PS22, and my favorite band, Little Dragon:

Enjoy your week.


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