SUNDAY
2100hours: Starved. Time to whip up some dinner. I mean the last meal I ate was lunch! That was hours ago! Smoked half a pack since then. Feel like cleaning out the refrigerator (may be a little bit of the pantry too). Been a while since I did.
A bottle of chilled Rosé pops open. The Halloumi grills as I chop some roasted tomatoes to go with it. Buttered Rye bread in the toaster. I tear open a packet of crisps. Munch on them with a portion of Avocado-Olive-Feta cheese salad. Hey! Totally missed the sweet corn chicken soup. It’s been in there all week. Not anymore! Wish I had soy sauce though. Ah! I do!
Not really enjoying the wine. But I finish the bottle anyway. Need another drink to change the taste. Throw every little chocolate truffle I can find in a blender with milk and vanilla ice-cream.
There are about 3 scoops of ice-cream remaining. They land straight onto my waffles with peanut butter and maple syrup. Now I need something sour and salty.
Was there any more bread and cheese? Swiss, Cheddar and Sourdough! Into the sandwich grill and then me! I thought I had some Pepper Jack Cheese too. Found it in the deep freeze. My next grilled cheese concoction.
Reheat some pork chops on the stove before pouring re-simmered balsamic mushroom sauce over it.
Pull the cling wrap off a large bowl of chicken tikka masala I’d cooked last night. Polish it off with 3 tandoori rotis and whatever was left of the Greek Yogurt.
Orange cake! I love Orange cake. Couldn’t let that single slice remain.
2200hours: Burrrrrrrp! Burrrrrp! Burrrp! I might just have eaten for 4 people. Disastrously late to the realization. I try to walk around. One step. Two steps. Three. Four. Five. I make it to the couch. Sink right into it. Turn on the TV. Nigella’s cooking Pappardelle with Butternut and Blue cheese. Yumm! Idea for my next meal.
2230hours: Dizzy and Dazed. Can’t keep my eyes open! I only do because it’s Nigella! Wouldn’t miss a second of her sensual, steaming, sizzling show. Stomach’s being weird for some reason. It’s churning. There’s too much going on in there, all of a sudden.
2235hours: Rise. One step. Two steps. Three. Four. Five. Six. Six and a half. Arrive at loo. There’s the Pot! Thank goodness! Plonk and unload. This is agonizing.
2300hours: Still heavy. Still dazed. Still expelling astronomical amounts of gas. I should probably just sleep. A smoke or two. And then, bed time…
2330hours: Oops! I left the TV on! Never mind. Don’t think I can trudge up to the living room. Way too snug as a bug in my rug.
MONDAY
Through the night: Laboured breathing. What do they call it? Hyperventilation, I think. Fitful sleep. Tossing and turning, (E)-Motions are strong, I know I have to hold on….(Except I haven’t waited for tonight!).
0915hours: I think I should get out of bed. It’s been 10-something hours. Besides, pot calling, imploringly!
0930hours: The agony. All over again. My insides are up in flames. I’m exploding. Literally, through the tear in my arse.
1000hours: Finally lift from the throne. As I shower, I consider the possibility of a detox. Of giving my digestive tract a break today. That would mean fasting. For 24 hours?! A whole day. Let’s start with baby steps, I guess. I promise I won’t eat any breakfast.
1015hours: Whilst dressing, I stop and look at myself in the mirror. I don’t like what I see. Gotta do something about it. Yes. Yes, I won’t eat breakfast. I won’t eat all day! I’ll hydrate. Loads of water. That’s all. Gotta clean up my act! And tract! May be this detox is the right time to stop smoking, get off the excessive alcohol. Get off any alcohol, whatsoever. I’m quitting. Outright. Going cold turkey on both.
1030hours: Driving to work and asking myself all over again – Am I truly quitting both? Two addictions, at once? Well, three actually. The overeating as well. This is going to be incredibly hard. A sip of water. One more. And one more. I know the process. Doctors, nutritionists, health maniacs, fitness freaks, friends, family, they’ve all told me how to do it. I never wanted to. Now, I do! Let’s do this. Let’s do this George-y!
1100hours: Half a litre of water down, already. And another rendezvous with the pot.
Noon: The Municipal Corporation just called in at work. Their mid-day calculations reveal I’ve contributed an explosive maximum to the city’s sewers. Holy “shit”!
1300hours: I’m kind of getting hungry. And angry. Hangry. And feeling so tired. Thangry! And I need a cigarette. So bad!
1315hours: I’m definitely hungry. Oh gosh! Pot plea. Not again! Where’s all this garbage coming out of?! Stupid question, I know. Brain capacity dwindling. Happens when you make such radical shifts.
1330hours: I can’t eat. Period. I promised to give my gut a break. I promised to flush out all the noxious stuff in my cells. Drink water. Drink loads of it. Okay stop. Not so much at one go!
1400hours: Losing focus. How do I realign? I expected this, didn’t I?! But there is no other way. No other way…
1500hours: Reading about the benefits of a detox. The Yogis say you must fast for a day regularly. Your health improves when the digestive system is given rest and the organs get ample time to repair themselves. As far as kicking the other habits go, apparently, there is no other way but to break off entirely.
1600hours: But I feel weak! My head aches. I’m sorry I ate so much last night. But I really, really need to eat right now! I need to smoke! Damn, I need coffee! Something stronger! Whiskey! Aaaarrrgghhh!
1615hours: May be I’ll take a nap.
1645hours: Not so bad anymore. Almost at a litre and a half of water.
1715hours: Would you believe it?! Another pot shot. May be my intestines will spew out on my next visit. Can’t concentrate. Haven’t been able to so far.
1800hours: I’m going nuts. Sweating. Profusely. But this is good for me. Shaking. But this is good for me. I’m rearranging. Squaring up! The years of abuse. What’ve I done to myself? Junked my body – my temple. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll shape up.
1900hours: I just threw up. It happens. It’s normal. For any recovering alcoholic. But how do I stop the tremors? I’m going to take a cab home. Safer that way…
2000hours: Home now. As I finish my third litre of water, I have this irrepressible yearning to mix it with some scotch.
2030hours: I reach for the bottle. Put it down. Put it down. I could never look myself in the eye again if I threw that down my throat. Put it down! Gaahh! Okay it’s down.
2045hours: Water. More water.
2100hours: No no no I’m not feeling the urge again…
2102hours: No no please, I can’t sit and shit anymore…
2105hours: Back on my seat. Feels regal. Honestly, this session in particular. Not fiery. Or painful. I feel cleansed. Somewhat. Also, exhausted.
2130hours: Can’t think. Just one drag. One goddamn drag! I’ll crush the butt beneath my heel right after.
2131hours: It’s never just one drag. You know that!
2145hours: I walk to the couch. Should I switch on Nigella? No, forget it. She’ll make me hungry. Hungrier than I am already. I don’t sit. I walk to the kitchen. Open the fridge. Jeez! I did clean out quite a bit of this haven. I see milk and eggs and veggies and meat. No, don’t even think about it. Save it for tomorrow. Pull out a bottle of chilled water. Drink. Drink. Drink.
2200hours: Hot shower. Brain shutting itself out.
2210hours: Bed. I just wanna sleep. Lights off, please! They’re bothering me. Done. With them, I’m out too.
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