Accelerated Adolescence

Fasting was so much harder when I was fifteen.

My first fast was so much harder than any other fast. It was probably because, at 15, I consumed every ounce of food I could get my hands on in a desperate attempt at satiation. I remember waking up one morning, stumbling into the kitchen at six o'clock. I blindly grabbed a box on the counter and poured its contents into a cereal bowl. I poured my milk and sat down, rather blithely, and began eating. My mother returned from an errand that had taken her into the basement, perhaps showering (she was always up before I was when I was in junior high). She saw what I was eating and asked me how it was.
"OH, it's not too bad," I replied mouth full of stick, "it's a just a little bit tchalky."
"That's because it's plaster, dear." Mother's say the darndest things!

This year, I think that I'm actually looking forward to the awkward shift in the fast that will be caused by DST this weekend. While eating dinner at 7:40 when the sun goes down is less appealing than 6:40, I might be able to get better sleep this year. I usually don't change my bed time for the fast but get considerably earlier. As a result, I am always more tired during the fast than I need to be.