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  • Harry Jensen

April 23, 2020

We had a Chautauqua last night: I read a piece, T gave a lecture on Ramadan, and Special K summarized the Book of Joshua. T told us that Ramadan is the ninth month of the Muslim year, and explained the fasting principles. During the hours between sunrise and sunset, one does not eat anything, drink anything, smoke anything, smell anything too zestily, or masturbate — anything.

“Basically, you should try to avoid pleasure as much as possible,” she explained.

T finished by inviting us to join her during her fast tomorrow (today). This time of fasting is in part meant to urge one to hold in their minds those of us who have to abstain every day out of paucity. I decided to join, along with one other roommate. We weren't sure why.

Today was the first day of fasting for Bean Curd and I, for Ramadan at least. Because I decided to engorge myself last night and sleep through the 4:30 a.m. pre-sunrise meal, I went 23 hours without food. I spent the day distracting myself by delivering my first pizza to the wrong apartment on Caviar, playing Borderlands, and not thinking about making love to the bacon mushroom pizza in my backseat.

When the sun finally fell from the sky, we broke fast and congratulated ourselves to one day of Ramadan completed. Only 29 to go.

“Actually,” T said, “today wasn’t the first day.”

Tomorrow is the first day of Ramadan it turns out. Only 30 to go.


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