We are sitting outside at Jack’s Cafe. I have finally worked out that the vege breakfast without the egg and the mayonnaise based sauce on the lentil patty is vegan. I am trying not to think about the egg my friend cuts into. I appreciate the gesture – she is eating the vege breakfast too.
Some days its hard – cogitative dissonance balanced on a knife edge. How do I keep the wall between reality and oblivion in tact long enough to act sane? Is it thin enough to keep caring, to not forget (though I desperately want to), but thick enough to not drive myself crazy?
She is talking about her fitness, her diet. I don’t know how to have normal conversations any more. But I latch onto shopping and reading labels. I have been doing a lot of that.
“I guess you could just add sugar to the cardboard and people would still eat it!”
She gives me a funny look, “I’d forgotten how extreme you’ve decided to go lately.”
I stop momentarily confused. I was trying! Then, I chock on the rage that wants to spew out of me. I take a moment to breathe. She has no idea about all the things I am not saying.
“It isn’t extreme,” I say as calmly as I can. “I just won’t eat animals any more.”
Forty-six years of eating animals – that was extreme. All the unnecessary effort we put the environment through to consume animals. All the suffering we cause. That is extreme.
Eating plants – how did our world turn so far upside down? Eating plants should not be the extreme diet. Vegan should be normal. How did we get it all so very, very wrong?