Waiting for Messiah.

I’m in for the long haul on this detox plan. Not because I’m one to get all hell-bent on a fitness regiment, but because I’ve spent way too much money on non-bovine, non-gluten, non-saccharine, non-tasting perishables. My tongue still calls out for fun-sized candy bars of the holiday past, and ordinarily I would deaden the craving with red wine and cigarettes. The inherit problem with that being that I medicated my anguish all night long, and then STILL woke up in a heap of shredded candy wrappers and chocolate in my sheets and hair.

So I’m two days in. I’ve cut the clandestine coffee and replaced it with detox approved green tea. My head has a dull ache to it from the withdrawls, but I’m so awash with numb lifelessness, that I barely feel it. In fact, last evening as I spend a few quiet moments contemplating this new approach to pain, my boyfriend noted a small smile that had come across my face as my eyes stared out vacantly.

The websites, magazines, and books all say that I’m going to get worse before I get better. That it’s an all important part of getting rid of the demons, and that I am paying for my sins right here and now rather than letting them manifest into cancer, eczema, fat, rabies, or tarrets syndrome. That I’m going to ache, act moody and weird, break out in hives, pee like a racehorse, and get a fever and/or flu-like symptoms.

But when it’s over, I’ll feel like a whole new person. I’ll digest like a teenager, I’ll recover a new found sense of energy and a natural glow will take over my entire body. My meditations will be long and deep, and my intelligence will far surpass the unenlightened ones with dirty pipes.

And the big tar turd will come and set it all free.

If the messiah comes, pictures will post.