I'll write about some of the stuff I mentioned in the last post later. First, I must announce to the world what I announced to Tina one recent morning.
"Well, I'm born again." I said over breakfast.
She just blinked. She knows by now that sometimes it's best to wait these things out.
"I'm not kidding. I had a revelation in the middle of the night. Two nights in a row, in fact. Something not to be denied."
Blink.
"This is going to involve a real change in my life. I have no choice in the matter. You see, the chicken wings came home to roost."
Two evenings previous, I went to happy hour at On the Border with folks from work, and eaten the wings of about 50 chickens.
Digression: In the last couple of years, I'd developed two exceptions to my vegetarianism. First, I would eat meat if it was otherwise going to be thrown away. This makes a certain amount of sense, since I'm a vegetarianism for reasons of compassion. There's no compassionate justification for allowing an animal that's already been killed for food to end up rotting in a landfill, if you're not increasing the demand for meat. Second, I would eat meat when celebrating with friends from work. This makes zero freaking sense, except that a) I wanted to, and b) when I'm out with work friends, Tina's rarely present. Which brings me back to the obscene number of chicken wings I consumed that Thursday evening.
So that night, and the next night too, I spent several hours awake and sweating with really unpleasant tummy pain. I'm not convinced I can blame the second night on the wings, but emotionally, I'm ready to do so.
So: I'm born again. A born-again vegetarian. I'm perfectly happy to be Pavlovian and let the negative reinforcement of abdominal pain condition me to return to my vegetarian ideals.
So to all who read this: keep me honest. I thank you, my tummy thanks you, and the sentient beings I might otherwise devour thank ya kindly.
