Tomorrow, as you all may be aware, is Monday. Which means another project on my journey to health and a suspension of my current undertaking: a week without Facebook, Hulu, or checking my WordPress stats.
And it’s ridiculous how relieved I am. I’ve held strong, no slips in that vein–but I still simply want to get on Facebook. A bit revolting how much it’s pervaded our lives, eh? Because Facebook is not equivalent to real life, interactions on the site are easier and therefore perhaps a bit cheapened, and we’re all very cognizant that a friend on Facebook may not be a friend in actuality.
But part of my desire to get on is purely practical. There are several people for which I lack phone numbers or email addresses that I’ve wanted to slip a note, and at times when someone wants to see a picture of a member of my family or someone else it seems so useful. Maybe that’s how it gets us–by convincing us it’s all good.
A few times this week, friends have approached me with quizzical looks and a note of concern. There’s something I want to ask you . . . about bacon? Apparently, one of my joking male friends thought it would be simply hilarious to use my computer (with its easy access to my Facebook) and post some tidbit about bacon on my page. Since I’ve been abstaining from the site, there was no universal denial nor way to clear my vegetarian name. The audacity!
The irony is, if I was ever to be tempted by meat it wouldn’t be bacon. As a child, I loved pigs. Adored them, really, and had an embarrassingly large collection of porcine treasures ranging from small figurines, fuzzy slippers, and piggy banks nearly as large as I was. For those who knew me, a pig token became an easy gift, thus growing my already large collection. From the age of about four until a year before I became a vegetarian, a morsel of bacon, ham, or pork chops never crossed my lips.
Sausage, however, was a different story. Somehow I mentally excluded it from the pork family after an event that transpired about a year after I’d sworn off any meat from my beloved animal. The family was at breakfast at Denny’s, and as my father and mother recount the tale, I ordered a pancake breakfast that included sausage links. My parents looked at each other dubiously, asking with their eyes does she know? Does she know that it comes with sausage, and what that means? The meal came. I stared at my plate in silence, and after a moment my papa leaned over and inquired gently, do you know what’s in them, Michaela? My chubby little face nodded and my eyes betrayed my conflict . . . I choked out, “I’m sorry little piggies!” right before I hurriedly shoved the links into my mouth.
The week away has been a good and refreshing break from those places of the internet that steal my time and tempt me to acknowledge them as more than they are. Look forward to tomorrow’s Pit Stop Monday, my friends!
Now tell me–any similar childhood stories 🙂 ?
Have any of you sworn off Facebook for good?
pilgrimageofhealth 