i nearly got a pastry this morning. chose a bagel instead — substance over sweetness; but i could have gotten a pastry. hesitant at the lack of ceremony at first, i broke pesach last nite over sub-par italian food (pasta rarely excites me.)
there are other psychological barriers that make food choices significant, ones that last much longer than eight days. there was a time i would never order a pastry, or eat salad that arrives dressed b/c russian waiters do not understand “on the side.” guilt when it peaked towards the end of high skool never would have let me, or if it had would have guaranteed furtive, joyless consumption.
of course such stigmas are good to get/be rid of. just the same, they were part of me — part of my identity, even. like at one point depression was. indisputably it’s better to be happy. with no trouble, however, i can recall how important it seemed. it made me deeper to brood, more complex to wear black. justification: those who are brilliant are so often sad. i had enuf awareness at the time to laugh at myself for being a cliche, but cyncial self-awareness is an integral part of the cliche itself.
different? better? it’s all subjective. i smile more. i weigh more. my stomach was shallower; but maybe the rest of me was too.
on an unrelated note i got an A on my film midterm and she read part of it aloud to the class. that brings my average for the four i have in hand to a sturdy B -. go me!