Image from The Suburban Crab archives
Once during my late teens, my mother caught me calling a friend at 10:30 at night. She wasn’t pleased, especially when she found out that I’d accidentally woken up my friend’s parents when I rang his house. “It’s rude to call so late!” she scolded. She subsequently instituted a household rule that we were never to call people after 10 p.m.
My mother, if you couldn’t guess, is serious about her household rules. If she says no calling after 10, then you sure as heck ain’t calling if it’s after 10.
A couple of weeks ago, Ted and I had just settled in for the night—lights out downstairs, kids sent to bed, a few last minutes of reading before getting some shut-eye—when my cell phone buzzed urgently from my nightstand.
Image courtesy of o5com via Flickr
Well, that didn’t take long, did it?
And no, I don’t mean my blogging, though I realize going more than a month between posts doesn’t inspire much confidence that I’ll have a whole lot of follow-through on that, either.
I’m talking about fasting. Shortly after my boastful post about how I’d been following the Fast Diet for something like three weeks, my interest in denying myself food, even just twice a week, began to wane. Suddenly, my devoted practice of fasting fell to just once a week, and then once every two weeks and then…
Image courtesy of Joi Ito via Fotopedia
I mentioned to Ted my feeling that I’ve gotten worse with age, that I’ve become this terribly selfish, self-centered, cold, crabby person who spends most of her time being a hater.
“You’ve never been the warmest fish.”
Image courtesy of Cheeni via Wikimedia Commons
Have you ever noticed how, when you’re driving and you let go of the steering wheel for a second, your car will start to drift slightly? Apparently your car’s not really supposed to do this, but I’ve found that even one that’s been going straight can have a natural inclination to the left or right if you let go of the wheel.
More and more, I feel like that’s how I am: Like if I don’t keep a tight grip on the metaphorical steering wheel of my behavior, my personality will naturally trend toward who I really am. Which wouldn’t be an issue if drifting toward the real me were the equivalent of edging slightly into the next lane. But lately, it seems the real me is instead more of a sharp veering off the road, through two lanes of traffic and into a storefront window advertising 5-cent copies and 24-hour laminating services.