Do the Dew
The main issue I’m having with our 2013 ban on all things mind numbing is giving up junk food. I have a fairly addictive personality, so I’ll cling onto anything I can get my hands on. Not having greasy, McChickeny goodness is killing me. Christy has been an absolute saint, helping me make fresh, healthy food, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about making a run for Del Taco at least 43 times a day.
I miss Mountain Dew. There, I said it. Mountain Dew’s intended purpose was to burn warts off mules, but there’s some tasty witchcraft going on in that green can/bottle. It was typically no problem for me to drink a 2 liter within an hour or so. I’d curl up and act as if the bottle was mother’s milk.
It’s been especially tough controlling my lust for the green fairy this weekend. I keep thinking how easy it would be to slip away for an hour or so and shame-chug a six pack of Coke. Netflix is addicting, but I’ve only been watching that for a few years. I’ve been drinking sugary sodas as long as I can remember. Sugar, sugar sugar. If I wasn’t drinking soda, I was gulping sweet tea with enough sugar to turn John Goodman into John “Holy Shit is that a Land Whale?” Goodman. It was normal for me to walk around with a 20 oz. bottle in my jean pockets. You know, just in case.
Last night, I dreamt I walked into a room filled, wall-to-wall, with Mountain Dew, Dr. Pepper, Sunkist…if it’s awful for you, it was in that room. Within seconds, I was a syrupy mess. So, I’ve still got a ways to go on my road to recovery. Just typing this has made me hate the glass of water beside me. I’d smash it against the wall if I wasn’t too lazy to clean the mess.
My name is Paul, and I’m an addict.