5:20 am — Dress silently for the gym in the dark.
5:30 am — Toddler appears in the doorway of his room, sniffling, and inquires, “Why are you doing this to me?” Please, kid, only my inner thighs get to ask that.
5:32 am — Attempt in vain to convince son that his father is as genetically and emotionally invested in him as I am, which might be more evident if he weren’t comatose at this moment.
5:35 am — Lie beside child in bed whispering over and over, “Was it not enough to make me fat, now you must keep me fat.”
5:42 am — Commence Silent Log Roll into Crouching Tiger, Hidden Mother once child is asleep. But he is never asleep.
5:45 am — Jettison plans to exercise and return to bed with child.
5:47 am — Grim realization that I’ve lost another cup size by sleeping in a sports bra.
7:30 am — Feed everyone breakfast except for myself because I am now obviously fasting.
7:47 am — Feeling sluggish, mind hazy, consumed with thoughts about food that I am not eating. That I will not eat. Because food is my nemesis. Along with that woman who refused to scan my groceries because I had two more items than the eligible amount for Fast Checkout.
7:52 am — Consider that juicing might be easier than fasting.
7:54 am — Stare bitterly at the smoothie ingredients I assembled: tomato paste, nutmeg, and expired yogurt.
7:56 am — Determine that low-carb might be easier than juicing. This is about sustainable lifestyle modification, after all.
7:58 am — Consider that shaving more regularly may help to shed weight and reduce drag.
8:00 am — Contemplate the advantages to fasting: fewer dishes, reduced grocery bill, less-fat fat pants, time to ponder life’s great mysteries, like what ‘hooking up’ really means.
8:07 am — My resolve is crumbling like a cookie. I want a cookie. I need a cookie. I would kill everyone in this room for a cookie.
8:09 am — I need a spiritual leader to guide me through this valley of the shadow of death and cookie wanting. I bet they’re expensive. Maybe a sensei is cheaper. Or a life coach. She’ll tell me I need a job. Maybe a choreographer. She’ll dress me in a leotard. Forget it.
8:20 am — What is the age recommendation on this puzzle? If three year olds can master this, then my neurological function is surely impaired by this state of asceticism. Whatever, kids, I couldn’t finish it before I was fasting, don’t ask more of me now.
8:23 am — How did Mia Farrow fast for nearly 2 weeks? After a dozen years with Woody Allen, everything else probably seems expedient.
8:26 am — I have an inexplicable urge to eat this hand cream.
8:38 am — Why, my husband, are you asking what is for lunch? How can you possibly be inquiring after lunch when you still have remnants of breakfast on your face? It’s not as though you’re on a fast without an herbalist and a person to massage away your free radicals. Wait — just hold still — you have a crumb of English Muffin on your collar. Just shake gently — so gently — so it falls into my mouth. It doesn’t count if I collide with it.
8:50 am — I know you’re just an American Express customer service representative, but you’re supposed to offer personal service, any time day or night. I just need someone to talk to for the next 72 hours. Please, don’t hang up or I will transfer my balance to — Hello?
8:56 am — No amount of You Tube videos will get me through this. All I can think when I see this deer and this dog who have become best friends is that I want to dip their legs in a satay sauce.
9:02 am — The Today Show will distract me. Oh, damn, the Hoda and Kathie Lee section. I’d sooner die of starvation than watch this absurdity.
9:03 am — Watching Kathie Lee talk about the importance of having personal space while I eat Gorgonzola with a spoon.
Erin Donovan moved with her family to the midcoast, where she constantly is told she says the word “scallops” incorrectly. She performs live and produces Web sketches derived from her popular humor blog I’m Gonna Kill Him. Follow her misadventures on imgonnakillhim.bangordailynews.com and on Twitter @gonnakillhim.