Actually it's not been a full week since fasting began, but it's certainly felt like one. And that's a good thing. The sensation of time slowing is familiar, and welcome. I always seem to have a lot more minutes on my hands during Ramadhan. The hour leading to Maghrib is invariably snail-like in its progression (and I'm talking an elderly snail here, not the youthful variety brimming with the snail equivalent of vim) and then the period afterwards, when one is free to eat and drink as one pleases, takes on a life of its own, like a day within the day.
To some degree I've been dealing with a double whammy this week. Unusually fasting began on a Monday of a full week of work, which meant having to deal with its rigours in the workplace immediately. And then I had to deal with the wall I always hit following the conclusion of a production. The strangely manic energy one is blessed with in the final intense rehearsals dissipates, taking along with it all one's normal reserves But it's quite straightforward dealing with the sensation of running on empty: you just keep going, with the odd nap here and there to remind you there's precious little to keep going with.
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