Dearest Rachel –
I think I’ve filled you in several times already about my new tradition of fasting on Sunday on the weekends when I’m working in the booth. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve gotten tired of hearing about it; there are times when I get tired of describing what I have to do in order to lose weight. It’s a tedious process, and no mistake, but it takes up much of my time and attention these days.
Of course, as I’ve also probably pointed out, the difficulty doesn’t lie in dealing with any sort of hunger when I’m ‘working’ in the booth; as long as I’m dealing with something other than my stomach, I’m perfectly fine. It’s those times when there’s nothing else to think about, that it decides to call attention to itself. I’ve become well aware that I’m as likely to eat simply out of boredom as much as actual hunger.
That being determined, the obvious solution is to keep my mind occupied, so it doesn’t have the downtime for my stomach to be heard over the silence in my head. As I said, this is easily done when I’m in the booth – even more so this particular weekend, as the computer seemed to be constantly on the verge of closing the program involuntarily and having to reboot itself. Thank God (literally) that we didn’t have to deal with such malfunctions during the course of the actual services, but it was touch-and-go from time to time, and I was on my toes during the entire time, just in case. Just the sort of thing to keep my mind occupied, and away from any nagging that might come from the fuel processing tank down below.
But once home, there isn’t nearly the need for that level of mental focus. And with a reasonably well-stocked pantry only a matter of steps away, there’s always the temptation to deal with both the boredom and the temptation in a single action – which is exactly what I don’t want to be doing. Now, I have yet to find a better day to be doing this (and, to be quite honest, I’d be dealing with the same conflict between mind and stomach no matter what day I’d be doing this), so there’s really no option for breaking down and giving in, and hoping I can attack this some other time.
Enter YouTube.
Look, I realize this is, when you come down to it, just substituting sloth for gluttony, but at least there’s still a certain amount of willpower involved in doing so. Not to mention the fact that, for the first hour or so in any event, there’s often the chance to hang out with Daniel, watching a few things together; it may not be the most stimulating or engaging form of fellowship, but it is a form of fellowship nonetheless. There’s a certain level of connection, even as we set aside our differences regarding the political and prophetic spheres, and just enjoy a bit of relatively mindless entertainment. And in the bargain, I’m not thinking about that empty sensation in the pit of my stomach.
Granted, once Logan comes down from his room, I step aside for the boys to enjoy a similar level of fellowship, leaving me to attempt to occupy myself on my own. For now, at least, I have the setup in the bedroom that allows me to juggle both a certain level of AI processing while I binge on one channel or another to continue to distract my focus. Again, it’s either this or food; and there aren’t any calories involved in consuming content.
All of which rather serves as introduction to what I ultimately found myself bingeing on. You might be surprised to find out that it took me this long (and yes, I’m well aware of how deep we are into the month already; I may not make a big production over the fact that it’s the 23rd anymore – and therefore, a reminder that yet another month has gone by without you – but it’s not out of ignorance) to get back to the annual celebration of one of the more cerebral science fiction shows in history, but you might also remember that The Twilight Zone, like almost every show we used to watch regularly, was more your thing than mine. Most programs, I could take or leave; even more so as time went on, and we could collect them by various means to watch later, thereby relieving us from being compelled into staying home every week on a given date and time. But as a consequence of it being more ‘your’ thing, it’s still weird to be watching it – even a condensed review of each individual show – without you there to do likewise.
It doesn’t help that, as the seasons wore on, there was a surprising amount of references to aging, death and loss in many of the episodes that I hadn’t remembered. An old married couple debating about replacing their old tired bodies, and which of them would be able to when they’ve only saved enough for one operation (“The Trade-Ins”); the maddening effects of survivors’ guilt upon the discovery of a submarine sunk during WWII (“The Thirty Fathom Grave”); an encounter between an astronaut and the family he left behind (and lost) (“Death Ship”); and, particularly on the nose for me (although “The Trade-Ins” cut a bit deep in quoting from Browning: “grow old along with me / the best is yet to be”), a widower finding a humanoid robot to fill in for his wife’s role, albeit more for his children’s sake than his own (and the resentment felt by his oldest child toward this artificial caretaker, and the mother that ‘left’ her) (“I Sing the Body Electric”).
Somehow, these seem so much more relatable, the older I get – or maybe it’s just from having to deal with loss myself (which is kind of inevitable with aging; others grow old alongside you, and some have to leave before you’re ready for them to). It’s an uncomfortable feeling, especially when sitting in a steadily darkening room as the day wears into night, which serves to metaphorically illustrate my state of mind.
At least, I can interrupt the gloom with pictures, since I’ve got the computer grinding away while I’m watching each review.
And between borrowing the prompts from each checkpoint model (and applying them to your submodel) and watching one review or another, it keeps my mind from thinking too much about food. Hey, whatever works, right?
Anyway, continue to keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 