A Degenerate’s Pathetic Attempt At A Juice Cleanse


The Fourth of July weekend was a fat fest for me. A true bona fide calorie blowout. Once the holiday weekend was over I decided that I was going to go on a juice cleanse. I hadn’t researched them at all and I didn’t realize that they are complete crap. I just thought it would make me feel recharged and healthy which was a stark contrast to the mojitos and barbeque of Independence Day. This is my journey.

July 6
I wake up and have a coffee with creamer. Coffee is a liquid so I’m still on the juice cleanse. Plus, I can’t cut back on coffee because I have to deal with Texas highways in the morning.
I drink a green concoction. It tastes like condensed garbage. As if it was actually trash was put in a compactor and then a straw was jammed in.
I eat Cheeze-Its for lunch. My resolve is weak.
I eat Whataburger for dinner because my body is a temple and fancy ketchup counts as a liquid. Starting a juice cleanse on a Monday is the worst decision I have ever made.
I drink a glass of wine. Wine is grape juice, so technically I am back on the path.

July 7
Another morning of coffee with French vanilla creamer. If I ever stop drinking coffee then have me admitted to the nearest hospital because something is clearly wrong.
I eat an English muffin for breakfast and have a glass of water. I hate the juice cleanse and refuse to participate.
I reluctantly learn to love the juice cleanse and decide to try harder.
For lunch I go to a juice bar – yes, the saddest type of bar. I order a green juice blend that has some fruit in it. It is tolerable, but is still the absolute worst.
For dinner I have another juice. I have been drinking lots of water and trick myself into thinking that I am energized (I am not energized).

July 8
I wake up and have a coffee and fruit smoothie. Beer before liquor, never been sicker. Fruit smoothie before coffee, dead. The aftertaste storm is offensive.
For lunch, I have a green smoothie. It tastes like sadness. The flavor names for green smoothies should be, “Rejection,” “Heartbreak,” “Depression,” and, “Despair.” There is nothing, I repeat, nothing that is satisfactory about gagging down a compost heap for a meal.
The lack of substantial food during my day has ruined my mood. I do not see the light at the end of the tunnel. I feel overwhelmingly irritable and calm myself down by watching YouTube videos of soldiers reuniting with their dogs. The lack of food has shorted out my ability to regulate emotions and I weep uncontrollably.
I Google pictures of enchiladas.
For dinner I snap and eat pizza. I laugh in the face of my juice cleanse. The juice cleanse is the Scar to my Simba and pizza is my Pride Rock. I am unable to coherently write a metaphor because I need sustenance and can no longer think clearly.

July 9
I am done with the juice cleanse although I’m not sure if I ever started it. I decide that juice cleanses are dumb and that I am weak willed. At the end of the day, I love food. I love food that has to be chewed and food that doesn’t require straws. Each sip of a green smoothie felt like a Dementor’s kiss. I decide to never attempt a juice cleanse again. Unless of course, the juice is wine.

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Brown rice. Black beans. Barbacoa. Both Salsas. Corn. Cheese. Guac. Lettuce.

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