Vegetarianism

For lent this year, I decided to go big and give up meat. The rest of my family gave up little things or added something on in place of a sacrifice. I, of course, had to one-up them all and gave up what I love most = MEAT. No steak, no chicken, no ribs, no meatloaf, no ham sandwiches. Just fish and vegetables.

I did pretty well for the first week or so. I lived off tuna salad sandwiches and pasta and lettuce. My family would eat their meat dinners and I would have a tuna casserole or a salad. I enjoyed the challenge of going without some of my favorite things, it made me feel strong in a way.

I went on in this fashion for about a month, trading in bean casserole for a PB+J without thinking about how much I loved bean casserole and how much I hated PB+J, but after I while I started to lose my vigor. The turning point was probably the night that they had BBQ chicken wings and curly fries. I found myself staring at my mom as she tore into her juicy, tender, delicious looking chicken. I stood by the oven and just soaked in the sweet, sweet smell of chicken wings and I ate my pitiful curly fries and imagined that the were dipped in chicken juice and deep fried in bacon fat. I was pitiful. It was then that I decided that, without meat, life had no meaning for me.

I lost interest in food and started skipping meals out of boredom. I had grown sick of tuna and mac and cheese. I wanted steak fajitas. I STILL want steak fajitas. I waited eagerly for Friday when the rest of my family would join me in my misery. Friday came and I wondered what my mother would make for dinner for everyone. She ended up making fish-nuggets. I hate fish-nuggets. The smell alone is enough to make me want to puke. So, there I was again, pitifully eating my curly fries and wishing they were chicken tenders.

The worst part so far as been the meatloaf. I love meatloaf with a passion. I could most likely live off of that stuff. My mom was making it and discovered she would have to leave before she could finish cooking it, so I had to take care of it. Making meatloaf is torture when you know you're not going to be able to enjoy it later, but I somehow managed, even though my taste buds yearned for it. I again sat pitifully at the dinner table, pretending I was fine with just bland mashed potatoes and a salad.


I'm about to the point where I'm prepared to wait until 12:01am on Easter so I can make myself a freaking steak fajita.