Weekend Report Card: A solid B+

Cravings: Succotash, weirdly; but I got all the ingredients at the Farmers’ Market and ate it for dinner on both Saturday and Sunday.

Mood: Weary

OK, I have a lot to do today so I’m going to limit my asides and get right to work (and considering my temper tantrum on Friday, I expect you’re grateful.) There’s a line in the movie"Dangerous Liaisons" that goes something like this; “Regret is an essential component of happiness.” And I’ve always wondered if that was true. Of course, I’m usually too cowardly to consider the matter because it would entail going over my regrets in a detailed way and well, that just seems unhealthy. Anyway, now I know it’s true because I had the kind of weekend that Freegans dream about. And hence, I already miss being a Freegan. Before I began this experiment, weekends were one long sprint from Friday night to Monday morning. I always had a list of things to get, people to see, errands to run and rooms to clean. As a Freegan, I could actually enjoy my time off and relax because I had nothing else to do. I took long walks around my neighborhood. I went foraging in Prospect Park again and actually got some bay leaves that didn’t come out of a jar. I had to leave a bit early and missed the gathering of the wild parsnips but I had fun nonetheless. I picked tomatoes and peppers from my garden and bought more from the farmers’ market. I made succotash, as I mentioned, a medley of roasted veggies and a really good salad with homemade dressing. Shoot, I felt like a frontier gal. All I needed was a shotgun and a horse. It was the kind of weekend that makes you fearful of a meat-eating lifestyle. But honestly, it was wonderful. I even avoided newspapers for fear I’d read about some kind of environmental folly or some newly discovered danger to the polar bear population. That’s not something most Freegans or I would normally do but I was determined to stay cheerful.

Of course, I just hung around with my husband. That’s not a criticism of my husband. I’m just saying he’s always with me—there were vows exchanged to that effect. We are getting a little testy with each other however—squabbling over stupid stuff like who gets to press fast forward on the digital video recorder. Some people say meat makes you aggressive. But meat’s got nothing on deprivation. I have a hair-trigger temper nowadays. As a Freegan, I always feel slightly frustrated, like a spoiled child who’s been told; “No more sweets.” And knowing that I volunteered for this discomfort only makes it worse. The poor husband asked me if I wanted some ice tea and I attempted to strangle him. OK wait, I was telling you how good my weekend was. Right, it was great. I’m just a little moody—let’s just say that the strain of this experiment is starting to get to me. Plus, as it turns out, being a Freegan is a lonely existence. At least it is for me. I didn’t want to hang out with my Frentors because I feel like a pretender. My friends have yet to send me an email that doesn’t mention the eating of garbage. I guess people are just leery about hanging out when you can’t buy a round of drinks. I’m not saying that my friends are only friends with me because I buy the beer. I just didn’t want to be a mooch or a killjoy. And trust me, I did not need to be tempted anymore then I already was. I had no idea that being a Freegan would make me anti-social; but I guess that’s what happens when you think almost all the people in the world are living their lives the wrong way. If I had to do this all over again, I would give myself two months and ease into the lifestyle. As this weekend proves, once you get into the swing of things, you can have fun. Or maybe I’d blackmail somebody into doing it with me so I would feel less alone.