12 Dec I want to stab someone.
So if you’ve read any of my books, or more than one of my blogs, or you have the misfortune to be friends with me on Facebook – then you know I have a soul-wedded affinity with Diet Coke. As in I drink too much of it and write too much about it. As in, I really think that the makers of Diet Coke should pay me sponsorship money because I talk about it so often. (Or they could at least send me a few free crates of the stuff…)
No, I don’t drink it because I’m on a diet. I drink it because it tastes good, isn’t too sweet, kickstarts my brain and generally makes me happy.
BUT, I am well aware that it’s bad for me. And many kind and thoughtful readers and blog supporters have sent me horribly informative articles that explain in disgusting detail, just why Diet Coke is so bad for me.
So with that in mind, I decided to quit. Because Im getting old and I want to be reasonably healthy as I creep into my senior years…And because the Hot Man is a freakin Ironman MACHINE with all his biking and swimming and running everywhere. It’s rather irritating actually just how dedicated he is to the whole endeavour. Especially if you’re just sitting here eating donuts while he runs and bikes and swims his Iron self everywhere. I mean, when we’re eighty I wont be able to count on him to help me cart my oxygen tank around because he will off swimming somewhere and my mobility scooter wont go fast enough to keep up with his bike. #SoSad.
So with better health in mind, I made quitting Diet Coke the first item on my checklist. After that I’m supposed to tackle replacing Twinkies and other chemically baked goods – with broccoli and carrots. Then, I’m going to learn how to ride a bike so I can be the Hot Man’s mobile water girl. (That way I can go back to Hawaii in the foreseeable future because his dream is to do the Kona Ironman and he will need a support crew, right? And who better to support him than his Diet Coke-clean and donut-free wife?!!)
That was the plan anyway. I quit six days ago. The first 48 hours were so painful. All I could think about was how much I wanted to kill people. By running them over with a truck filled with Diet Coke. (And lots of ice.)
Day three was better. I found that by watching non-stop episodes of the Walking Dead, I could distract myself from visions of popping open the lid of a chilled can…the way the bubbles would fizz and hiss as you pour the liquid over a stack of ice…the sweet satisfaction of that hit as caffeine and aspartame floods the system…oh the joy…the bliss. No, I wasn’t missing it at all. I had hope I would make it.
Day four I had a headache. Like someone stomping through your head and kicking it with steel-capped boots. I decided to have JUST ONE can. But there was none in the house so I asked Big Son to go buy me some from the corner store. He refused. Because he’s very unkind. And then the teenagers proceeded to lecture me. “If you have a headache then take a Panadol. Stop behaving like a drug addict.” I was not happy. When they went to bed, I contemplated sneaking out and going to buy some coke secretly. Only, it was 11pm and laziness was at war with caffeine withdrawal. Plus, I had a headache and what if I crashed the car? So then I thought about ordering pizza delivery…just so I could get them to bring me Coke. But then I remembered Dominos only has Pepsi. Heck no!
Day five I was saying mean things to random strangers everywhere. On Facebook, Twitter. And at the petrol station. Sometimes just in my head because I’m chicken like that. But generally, I was thinking bad thoughts about everybody and everything. I wanted to stab people. Especially if they were drinking Diet Coke.
And today? I bought a can . And drank it with lots of ice. And I was happy. High and floating in a blissful peaceful zen-like state.
I will try again tomorrow to quit. I promise. Or maybe quitting donuts and Twinkies would be easier place to start?