Suzy Says

Actual Owner did return Rita, like the cup of sugar she’s not, yet the weather at Chez Girls remains cloudy and overcast, with sudden bursts of thunder tantrums, the occasional squall and tropical depression.

Yes, the Particularly Punishing Period has finally made its exit, leaving destruction in its wake (unflattering zits and an unpleasant bruised feeling about the lower body), but I am in the throes of withdrawal, without methadone or other delightful substances to take the edge off.

In a moment of weakness, I allowed my Perennially Positive Trainer to convince me to give up all sugar and starch (including artichokes, corn, and other seemingly innocent veggies) and bread and booze for fourteen, count ’em, 14 days. I drew the line at caffeine, though I wondered about making this my one vice when faced with vomitous glop like cottage cheese or yogurt for breakfast. Being in a fully alert state for this is not the best idea I ever had.

Tried to convince PPT that wine was in fact fruit. He pointed out that it was fermented. I pointed out that yogurt was fermented. He told me to do more lunges.

My Queendom for a martini. The dirtier the better.

So far, I’m at day four. I have: a constant, low-grade headache; vague stomachache; incessant peeing; inability to get to sleep; extreme state of boredom; horror that I’m not even half-way. The tedium stretches before me in a seemingless endless vista of ennui, and you know how boredom is my biggest fear. The only Nirvana I have achieved is the entire oeuvre of the late great Kurt Cobain, and it’s looking like it’ll stay that way (especially since there’s no more Kurt to be had).

Ever notice how “detox” and “toxic” are just so unpleasant compared to the delights of “intoxicating” and “botox”? No-one ever says, “I was detoxed by her stunning beauty.”

Now I know why.

I’d throw in the tofu and go back to my normal, Sinatra-style self except for my native stubbornness, which makes even an above-average mule look like a slacker. I’ve endured four days of this hell, so I’m not giving in now. If I get to the fifteenth day still feeling like hell, I will have the pleasure of saying “I told you so.”

Something to look forward to.

Note to sibs: Guess who ain’t gonna be eating, drinking and making merry in a couple of weeks? Better some cheese to go with my whine. And lots of it!