So this is detoxification.

At some point, I kinda forgot what it was like to wake up on a Saturday without a hangover. My lungs are probably filthy inside, and my liver is pretty much begging for a break. My stomach is tired of slurpees and pizza (I know, I'm shocked too), and I often find myself glued down to the couch and, through squinty red eyes, actually deriving some sorts of giggly entertainment value from 'Wife Swap'.

When Dylan mentioned that he was taking all of September to detox, I begrudgingly joined his month of sobriety and healthy eating habits. I wanted to support him, but I was not looking forward to subjecting the general public to a clean, sober Sarah (sorry 'bout this, guys). Despite my reluctance, for the most-part, things have been alright.
I'm on day thirteen now, and I think I'm going to survive. I've been without booze, weed, and cigarettes, and have stuck to a strict healthy diet the entire time.
There have been a few downfalls; I've learned that I actually possess some sorts of human emotion, I have to walk right by some of the most deliciously greasy restaurants on the way home from work, Autumn always has some fun parties, and some songs just aren't nearly as much fun if you're not blazed. Not gonna lie, I've had a couple of rough days along the way, but my body needs this badly.

On day ten of the detox, I was walking down the street, and someone had chucked a handful of fries on the ground. I stared down at the fries, and thought about how much I missed greasy foods. Despite the fact that the fries were covered in dirt, had been run over by a bike, and had probably been partially consumed by someone with Hepatitis, seeing those filthy potatoes on the ground made me feel ravenously starving. This is when I realized that I was literally getting hungry at the sight of garbage. It was at this moment that I knew, for a fact, that my body really did require a bit of a detox, despite all of the hardships ahead.

Some of the good points? It's easier for me to wake up in the morning, I have a little bit of extra pocket change, and I've already dropped five pounds. Side note- have you guys seen that awesome commercial for Bowflex, where some corporate-looking dickhole is sitting in front of an out-of focus Bowflex, and talking about his success story? Oh, wait, that's every Bowflex commercial ever made. Anyway, in this one, he flashes his dopy grin at the camera and starts explaining about how his waist circumference has grown smaller, and he has more energy to roll around with his son, and blah, blah, blah. It's quite boring up until the end, when he concludes his speech with one of the most fantastic lines ever:
"I gave all of my fat-clothes to my fat friends". Um, they probably aren't your fat friends anymore, dude. Watch for it, it's essentially the funniest thing on TV right now.

My biggest challenge comes at the end of the month: my very first sober moving day ever. That's right, I'm finally moving out of my terrible little craphole apartment. I'm really going to miss certain things about this little place; what am I going to do without the sounds of the weekly crack-fueled Pink Floyd sing-a-longs in the apartment below me? I've never had to buy cigarettes while living here, because the equivalent of a pack-and a half worth of smoke seeps through my walls every day, and the gentleman beside me has a charming habit of letting squirrels and pigeons inside of his suite. I guess he lets them hang out on his couch and watch Wheel of Fortune or something. However, it's gotten to the point where, every day when I arrive home, I am shocked to find that my place hasn't burned to the ground. With all of the outdated wiring and leaks in the roof every time it rains, my current building is a certain fiery death waiting to happen. So, despite the fact that it is my least favorite activity in the world, I'm moving out of here at the end of the month. However, unlike my usual moving days, I will not be allowed to cope with all of the boxes and packing and lifting by downing a six-pack at 9:30 in the morning. Fuck.

I'll let you know how it all pans out at the beginning of next month, and I won't be typing the conclusion while sober, I can promise you that. Seventeen days left to go.....

~sarah p.