Wilbur's Stomach

"Wilbur's stomach was empty and his mind was full. Well, when your stomach is empty and your mind is full, it's hard to fall asleep. But sleep and Wilbur finally found each other."

Never have I appreciated the movies of my childhood more. 

If a pig can go without eating very much, well, so can I!

If you disregard a small serving of instant breakfast around 7:30 AM, I haven't eaten since.. well, let me seriously think. I've been saying 9 PM yesterday as a safety net of honesty, but I'm not sure how accurate that is. Considering I ate myself so full yesterday with the family before Wesley's Tae Kwon Do practice, I'm pretty sure that's the last time I ate. We ate at the diner in Florham Park. Wesley's Tae Kwon Do practice started at 7:30. We cut it pretty close, but I distinctly remember eating some cheesecake in the car while he was getting started. 7:30 might be the more accurate hour. Damn, so that makes this more like (4 and half hours till midnight added to 22:53 [right now's current time, did you guys know I hate the normal way of time and should it be preference, I would always use the 24-hour-clock.. don't believe me? check my phone and my computer, or anything else that belongs to me with a time on it for that matter.]) 27.5 hours of no eating. 

And I have to go until at least noon tomorrow to hold up with my promise. The facebook page says it ends at 15:00. Damn, I hope that's not true. Gawgs said noon. Let's hope noon. Let's beg God for noon. Otherwise this is coming up on a 45-hour-famine. 

(Sarah Hohenshelt just wants to say she's pissed about the comments section removal. I'm pissed too because I can't eat, so here it is. She told me to put it here, anyway.)

So my belly is hurting. And my disposition is frankly drained. I'm cranky at the world. 

If you really want to know why the comments section is taken away, it's because this is supposed to stay a journal. Not a two way communication. Comments might come back when that's established firmly enough in my mind, but for now it's not. I've been accused of doing it out of embarrassment but that's absolutely untrue. The true reason is exactly what I say it is, comments distort my image of what I'm doing. It makes it feel like I'm putting up elongated Facebook updates. This isn't a twitter with long posts. It's not a Facebook full of statuses. It's a journal. I want it to stay that way. It hasn't been a month yet, so its identity is still vaguely unknown to me. We're getting to know each other. It's a love-hate relationship, like I said yesterday. It's my best friend and confidant, it's my magnificent playplace, and most importantly it's whatever it decides to be. I haven't really erased a sentence since I started. I write exactly what I'm feeling, and come to think of it have only used the backspace key to erase typing mistakes or to adjust phrasing. My meaning and message have always been spontaneously the same. My worst offense is sometimes doing things in my day just to fill the journal, or maybe mild occasions of self censorship. When I hold things back, but usually once they're out they're there to stay. You get the best image of my mind. I write it like a journal, you read it like a blog. It's a journal to me. It's a blog to everyone else. To you, it really might serve like a series of tweets or elongated Facebook statuses. This is to me, just hitting me now. I guess it's whatever people make of it. How they take it. All a matter of perspective.

Isn't a lot of life that way?

Anyway.. I don't want to think I'm thinking too deeply or to try and discover hidden truths while everything's so foggy. I mean you always know your body needs food, but it's legitimately tiring to not have it. Your belly hurts. You lose your clarity of thought. Let me tell you a few of my worst symptoms. Basically let me indulge my grumpiness and gripe for you all to see. Generally be a pussy.

Every time I see food, I cower like a dog, tuck in my tail, and desperately run away looking the opposite direction. Maybe throwing myself up against a wall if there's food everywhere. It's insanely frantic. Possible explanation (*cough*excuse*cough*): Every time I've fasted, it's been in a place quarantined from food. Doing active things unrelated to eating. Now, being at home (a place I do few other things than eat) I have to face my desire and deny my body of it. Sheer determination and willpower hold me in place. I don't go against my word, and I promised (for better or for worse) to fast alongside Long Hill. Until the end, whether I started earlier or not, I won't abandon them. I would die first. (probably)

What more valuable power does a man have than the worth of his word?

Man desires to be taken seriously. If you knowingly make untrue statements, break promises, back out of commitments, or sacrifice what you've said in any means or manner, you lose credibility. Honesty promotes power. Whether it feels like it or not at the moment.

My body craves to eat.

My spirit craves this struggle and to stay true to my word.

My mind says, dude, this can't be any good for you.

And me, well, I'm like screw you guys, this sucks but I'm going to get through it. Why? To support my fellow fasters? Maybe. For bragging rights? Perhaps. To know that I've done it? Possibly. For hope of satisfaction? Sure. To prevent my until-now struggles from being in vain? Definitely helps. To prove myself a part of the body of Christ, as much a part of Long Hill as of New Life, and to make a point to myself and whoever looks into it? Sounds good to me. 

But in truth, I really have a bunch of ideas but no solid reason I could give for it. No singular purpose. Does this mean I'm doing it for no reason? No. I guess I'm kinda conditioning myself for the next one. Doing it because my suffering and my flesh, mental, and spiritual response to suffering fascinates me beyond compare. I don't know. I guess pushing myself to the limit, testing myself, it all helps me get to know myself better.

Why do I do anything? Well, to glorify God.

What's a major way I glorify God? Well, getting to know myself. Becoming in tune with my identity. Unifying my public and self image? Sounds decent enough.

Sorry if I'm rambling. I don't really know. It's all a fog.

Today was cool. Went to school for a full day. Sentimentally enjoyed the first two classes. CAD 1, over and on to CAD 2. Computer Applications, over and done with. (Doesn't the Jurassic Park theme song kinda have a nice, sweet innocence to it? Sounds like the beauty of intelligence, love, family, and friendship to me. Intuition's in there too. It's the beauty of science (that I can't usually find anywhere, especially not science class) gathered together into a song. It's cool. Makes me wish science and I clicked a little better.) Chemistry came as both a blow, unfortunate reassurance, and reminder I'm no scientist. Worst Midterm Score Ever: 66.5%. With a semester/marking period/no clue grade (incomplete, should go up) of 69.50, I held onto a C-. .01% could have changed that. That feels good even though the grade sucks. Because it's an Honors course, this is worth 2.7 towards my GPA. Much better than 1.7. Much worse than 4.7. I feel terrible thinking about it, but it's nice to have it out there. Admitted. Realized. Out of denial. 

I ain't no scientist. I'm a humanist.

So I'm getting tired but I'll keep going with you guys because this journal is just that important to me.

Spanish was a big adventure. I went in knowing I had a 19 out of 20 on the listening exam, not bad at all, right?

Then I got back the Verbs & Vocab. 77/84. Not bad. Best grade I saw in the class around me.

This puts me up at a (77+19)/104, which is about a 92%. I was in an A-. On my way to getting an A.

Then she gave me back my composition. A circled "-1" felt pretty good to see. The next best I saw around me was a circled "-2," again the top of my nearby classmates. This felt all right, but I knew what was coming next. I took a minute to enjoy what was now a (96+17)/(104+18)=92.6% which is solid because it rounds up to an A! Then... I had to throw up some intense hailmaries.

Oh please God! Don't tell me I screwed up my vocab so bad it takes it away! Don't let me lose this! I want an "A" SO bad, Lord! Oh man, oh man, it's not going to be this good. It's going to bring my grade down. It was so intense. I wasn't nervous. I had faith. I just felt like I was going to explode if she didn't give it back to me before class was over.

But then of course I couldn't even be the first to look at my complete midterm grade when it finally got to me. I didn't want to accept the fact it could be lower than an A.

But Matt Sweeney says he doesn't know how I'll respond. That it was a border grade. He didn't give me much more than that, except the slip of paper itself.

An 89 smacks me in the face. 

Not a 93. Not a 92. An 89. 

Not an A. Not an A-. A B+.

Now, that really sucked. Kinda a letdown.

Class grade's an 84. But that's counting in I didn't do the 100+ point summer assignment. Whatever. I'll get it next time.

I'm a little upset. But okay. I'm better at Spanish than my numbers dictate. You don't have to be good at school to be good at the things it teaches.

Other midterm scores were a 72 on the multiple choice section of a midterm and a 87 or something on the PreCalculus. My essay should be very good for my history grade though. Looking forward to that part. I would daresay it is the best history paper I have ever written. Has some of the best English I've ever mustered in it as well. Top Twenty, for sure. Even though it's relatively short. It was especially cool because it was clutch.

I'm signing up for VHS. Virtual High School. Just a way to get some extra credits. Instead of going to lunch (reading that just now made a pang in my belly) I went to guidance to ask about it. So cool. Emailed Miss Germer and she got back to me kinda late tonight. I'll reply soon.

I successfully distracted myself at home enough to not eat anything.

I made it to the Monster MiniGolf.

My belly still hurts.

Josh and I let down two conquests, but it was all right. Not for him as much as for me, all I really care about is food right now, but it's good.

Elisha and I tied for first. (Cleaning Apartment is a weird name that makes you think for an awesome song.)

Here ya go:

Yes, Pandora, I'm still listening.

Well, we got 51 points. Beat Sarah Wood by one. She was competitively upset. But that's okay, it's Sarah.

So... we made it back to the church.

Then the Oreos came out.

And for the first time in my life, I saw a package of Oreos I couldn't and didn't eat out of. It was torture. Westeban effectively exploited and rubbed it in. Love those guys.

Trademark move....

Zoosters Breakout

was to call my Mom, realize that Sarah's always the one to let me know how I'm getting home, handed her my phone, and let her take care of the rest.

Nice.

Headed home soon after.

Walking past the cupboards of food and through the kitchen and dining room was worse than army crawling across coals.

I made it.

Downed a small glass of water. 

Joked with Mom and Sarah Hohenshelt (indirectly) for a while then got to work writing this.

Then I executed another hour of my life working with the production of this journal.

That brings you to 23:58.

Good night everyone.

Or morning, by the time it's on Facebook and someone reads it.