Fast, Forward

If this blog was a noise-making animal, right now it would sound a lot like what comes out of Sideshow Bob's mouth in that fantastic Simpson's episode wherein he repeatedly steps on several rakes and they hit him in the face: Such is the closest thing to the audio of my Morning-After-the-Break-the-Fast-with-Too-Much-Sugar Hangover.

My friends at the East Jerusalem office are being wholly unsympathetic, in fact they seem more amused that I get into this state every year after a "mere" 25-hour fast while many of them have to endure the whole month of Ramadan. (Yes, we've gone over the whole "but you get to eat every night!" argument. Whatever, they still think it is hilarious that I can't string a sentence together today.)

Spiritual/existential overtones of the calendar's holiest day aside (and fear not, there were plenty) I happened to catch a TV program some hours prior as I was hanging out my washing- some lame effort to get the wider, religiously apathetic Israeli community to partake of the joys of Yom Kippur by extolling the virtues of fasting on the old bod. A health "expert" waxed lyrical on the benefits of cleansing, of allowing the poor, beleaguered body some Time Out, and of the advantages of breaking one's fast with mineral water, fresh vegetables, clear soup etc, "pure" food to set the system back on the right track: Spiritual and physical cleanliness in one easy step!

And indeed. As the day wore on, in between the large-scale fretting which behoves it, I began fantasizing about how I wasn't going to touch anything remotely sweet ever again, treat the pesky sugar cravings in the same way the prayer books haughtily command we unliaterally deal with all evil inclinations. I thought it would be a good test run, as it were, in dealing with the various other aformentioned inclinations which are slightly further from my immediate control.

So what did I break the fast on, I hear you all wonder aloud? Celery sticks? Clear, nourishing broth? Steamed okra?

Yeah, right.

I'm ashamed to admit that it wasn't even chocolate: It was, in fact an "Energy" Granola Bar- which incidentally I wouldn't be found within a mile of in normal, non-gimme-some-sugar circumstances. And it was a "Fun Size" one at that. (And I don't know why they call them "Fun Size". There's nothing "Fun" about eating something which takes you longer to open than to eat. Especially when it then leaves you wanting more: I guess the "Fun" is what the people who invented them were having when contemplating the torture this misnomer would inflict on me for 30 years.) And to wash this veritable feast down, I found some coloured, preserved syrup which has the gall to a) be packaged and sold as a drink and b) claim it is derived from cherries, when it clearly has yet to meet one. And thus the damage was done: No matter how much lovely healthy food* I subsequently tried to balance it out with, more sugar/processed nonsense was ingested in the 2.5 hours after the 25 in which I'd decided my body was to be a temple than in at least that many days prior. And even now, many hours hence, I'm still paying the price. (Cue that Sideshow Bob Rake noise again)

So, there go those best-laid plans again... Let's just hope my other resolutions have better staying power. Oh well- sugar-high notwithstanding, I managed to resist the tempatation of the most bizarre sms from a local bar which found its way onto my cellphone shortly after the buzz kicked in. An invitation to an "After-Kippur Party". I kid you not! You may be impressed to know that I didn't run to partake of their invitation to "Come Break Your Fast With Alcohol!".

Now all that remains is the sugar still whizzing around my bloodstream- time will tell if that helps me in my quest to heal the world and make it a better place. Meanwhile, this is your post-penitence parrot, signing off and still dreaming of Wine Gums.

*Thanks, H & D!