Prunes and Potato Juice

The monk left yesterday, before I woke up. It was the first time in months he hadn’t been here, with the exception of the time we were on vacation, and it was wonderful. I mean, I basically sat around all day doing nothing. But the fact that I didn’t have to worry about the impending threat of him coming in to ask me to make fifty more CD copies of his talks was very refreshing.

Unfortunately this wasn’t the last of my problems. My mother’s taken to juicing, and now I’m provided a new concoction nearly every night along with my dinner. She juices everything within reach. Pounds of fruit have been plucked up, within days of their expiration, only to be pulped and processed into a frothy, brown substance.

Last night I had what I assume to be a watermelon carrot mix, which may sound good in theory, but doesn’t turn out so well in practice. Turns out this watermelon had a very strong and disagreeable aftertaste. Not to mention the juice kept separating… anyway it was a mess. I never though t I’d say this, but I wish we just had plain water again.

And as if this wasn’t enough, today she brought a bag of prunes to the table and just put them right down, as if I was going to eat them. Prunes. Yet another reason to fear aging. Just the sight of them offends me. Have you ever seen a prune? It looks like a giant, fleshy cockroach. They shouldn’t be allowed on the table.

Now don’t get me wrong, I think it’s important to be healthy. But there’s nothing that says you have to ingest disgusting things in order to do it.

So here I am, getting ready to sit down to a delicious dinner of Carrot-melon juice, prunes, and hummus, when I realize that maybe I haven’t exactly escaped the influence of the monk. The vegetarian diet remains. He might have left our guestroom, but he still lives on in the terrifying specter of prunes and potato juice.

-Viv