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  1. Excruciatingly Difficult

    July 31, 2018 by Laura

    30 years ago, in 1988, when I was a Sophomore at William Smith College I took a Poli-Sci class called Radical European Thought. The professor, David Ost, a memorable instructor who is still teaching, brought in a friend from Poland. She spoke about how in Poland at that time, it was very difficult to do something unusual and have it be taken at face value. Under Communism, every act had to fit into a certain narrative. For example, having spent time in the US, she had taken up running as a way to stay in shape. In Poland, she told us, no one ran or jogged in public. It simply wasn’t done. So, when she returned home with her new exercise habit, she was met with two reactions. One was, “Oh, she thinks she is better than the rest of us now. She thinks she’s an American.” The other, which I found fascinating, was,”What a good Polish girl. She is staying strong for the Revolution.” In fact, she said, she was just trying to work off the many American calories she had consumed. She couldn’t believe how much we ate here and how sweet it all was. I often think about her rather remarkable observation about Polish life under totalitarianism–as I recall it, especially lately.

    I started this blog 7 1/2 years ago, when Guthrie was still nursing. There is a buoyancy to the writing that I can’t seem to find in myself now (although, literally speaking, I am more buoyant now than I was). Maybe it was the oxytocin.

    Approaching 50 in mere weeks; 11 years of ICU nursing in the bag; boys doing general kid things; me momming & wife-ing the best I can. Not at all what I predicted from my desk in Professor Ost’s class (although it must be said that there was much banter about the rise of authoritarianism in the US under Reagan-Bush).

    This is/was a weight-loss blog. Oddly, there are few bloggers out their chronicling their inexorable fall from good health into blobdom. Or maybe there are, but since it’s so damn depressing to read, I haven’t searched them. But the things I found inspiring in 2011 (“Hey, let’s not get diabetes, sleep apnea, heart disease, arthritis and cancer!”), don’t strike the same note. There is no beige-dress photo phobia looming. My windowless kitchen does not inspire.

    I liked writing this blog. I liked finding the hilarity in intentionally doing something big for myself. I find relentless insistence on self-improvement hilarious. But I don’t find striving toward better health hilarious (except when I do). Hilarity is motivating to me. Just trying to be a better person, frankly, is not. I’ve arrived at adequate. The view from here is nice.

    But reliance on “health-care” is a bad gamble. And being “more productive” is in conflict with my armchair revolutionary nature.

    Looking for my new angle. The humor in looking like a preggo grandma at 50. The next beige dress. The next kale salad.

  2. Toxic Waist, or My Annual Freak-out

    February 9, 2014 by Laura

    Wow, can you believe it’s been a whole year since I last posted? I can. You may have gathered that sustaining my attention to this is not my forte. Here’s the update:

    I did run a St. Patrick’s Day 5k, accomplishing my best time for such an endeavor. I have no idea what that was. I came in ahead of lots of people and just behind the woman who had stopped to nurse her screaming infant. Subsequently, in the course of training for the half marathon, I experienced a foot injury that did severe and lasting damage to my motivation. That was in May.

    Shortly thereafter, for reasons both numerous and nebulous, I experience a garden variety, stress-induced bout with severe depression and anxiety. Being a generally upbeat and non-anxious person, this was a rough time. I treated that with rest, pharmaceuticals, pizza, and beer. I’m much better now. Much better. S’all good.

    Now, that particular combination of therapies, while highly effective in treating my mood, had the complementary side-effects of weight gain and apathy. Sure, I’ve gained 10, 15, (ok let’s face it every pound I have ever lost) back, but y’know, I look ok. Good even. My hair is still long and wavy. Work is going better than ever. I bought a cute, new, vintage style, polka-dot bathing suit that I fill out quite nicely, thank you. Short story: I am finding it very hard to give a fuck.

    Objectively, I know I need to drop pounds if I want to feel really healthy again. Also I don’t feel like buying yet another wardrobe when I already have nice clothes in size That-was-then. In November I joined a Biggest Loser challenge at work (the kind I would have won in 2011), and within 3 days was thinking, “This is fucked up.”

    Shifting gears is hard.

    As usual, the clinical aspect of my job (as opposed to the Biggest Loser Challenge) has provided ample reasons to treat my body better. But I am really, REALLY tired of having weight loss be a major conversation topic. I am tired of hearing apologies and explanations for eating food that is just food. I am very interested in nutrition, food, health and people having transformative experiences. I am not interested in health and weight being the currency of status. Does that make sense?

    So my humble plan is to eat a mostly vegan, whole carb diet for a while. I’ll probably eat a bit of fish and maybe some full fat dairy in teensy amounts. I started using Spark People to track and plan meals and goals. Even as I type this, I feel the weight of the effort. It feels oppressively structured. But I’m treating it as an experiment. I can do anything for, say, a week, right?

  3. Neanderthal Day

    February 3, 2013 by Laura

    Accomplishment of the moment: Today I completed six weeks of 5k training. Yay! I ran for 22 minutes, mostly uphill, and managed to enjoy some of it. I even built in little strategies like speeding up on the flats and downhill, and taking it easier on the way up. Two more weeks and I’ll be 5k ready. The 5k I’m training for is 6 weeks away, so by then I’ll be almost ready to do a 10k. The half-marathon in August feels possible, although running for 2 or more hours still sounds awful. If you’re more interested in weight loss, I’m down maybe 6 pounds too.

    Today is Superbowl Sunday. I used to love football. I was a diehard Philadelphia Eagles fan (did you see Silver Linings Playbook?) who sat alone in New England bars on Sundays to watch my team repeatedly snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. I was the quiet Long Trail drinker in the corner whose occasional loud, foul-mouthed outbursts turned the heads of the plaid-clad Pats fans enjoying their Buds. But since moving to sunny California, I can’t bring myself to sit in a bar on a fine Sunday afternoon, thus football has fallen off my radar. I haven’t really missed it. But now we have cable (we subscribed for baseball), no bar required.

    Even though the 49’ers are in it, I can’t get too excited. Don’t get me wrong; I like a jingoistic display of American commercialism, military domination, alcoholism, and male chauvinism as much as the next flaming, communist hippie. Nothing gets this eco-feminist’s juices flowing like a watching an F-16 fly-over chew up ozone and tax dollars. So like everyone else in America, we invited a few friends over to watch. But you know what, Amurca? Fuck you. This year, we’re going vegan. That’s right, you can take your kielbasa and… nevermind. That’s not at all nice.

    Vegan chili (with extra kale, thank you very much), hummus, and chocolate cake. Supposedly I’m not drinking until St. Patrick’s Day, but that might not work out. We’ll see. Does a taste of beer count?

    I was going to use this as a jumping off point to launch in to my “Why I am not a Paleo Grrrl” diatribe, but I’m losing steam here, and I still have to make the hummus and cake. but here’s the gist of it: Paleo relies too heavily on meat, and I don’t believe grains are the downfall of human civilization. There you have it. I’ll defend my thesis in a later post.

    Meanwhile, pitchers and catchers report in 8 days. Go Giants!

  4. Viva la Vitamix

    January 17, 2013 by Laura

    On January 7 I started what is either a 21 Day Purification Program (if you’re a Whole Foods shopper type) or a LOSE UP TO 12 POUNDS IN ONLY 3 WEEKS MIRACLE DIET!! (if you’re more of a Safeway shopper). I do this maybe twice a year and always feel good eating all those veggies. It’s kind of a kick-start thing. Although last time I did it, it was more of a launchpad to the holiday smörgåsbord (don’t you love the excellent Nordic letters? Admittedly, I ate no Scandinavian food over the holidays), so I’ll have to figure something else out. This time around, I’m being a little less aggressive about it. Maybe because I’ve added the running. Also, I’m trying to develop good habits for afterward, as this is not sustainable.

    The program goes like this: you take 75 of the giant, gel-capped, “supplement” pills 9 times a day. You add the sawdust to your smoothies, which you eat instead of food. Then, you can eat anything on this list: fruit, vegetable, brown rice, wild rice, lentils. If it’s not on the list, a crazed, vegan, ultra-marathoner comes over to break your wrist. Simple.

    Today I am totally bored with smoothies. And with salad. It’s 28 freaking degrees outside, and I am blending frozen blueberries. Not into it. So in order to mix it up a little (by the way, in real life, I never say “mix it up a little”), I grabbed the cookbook that came with my Vitamix. Remember my Vitamix? The one I swooned over back in 2010 when I got it? I still love it. I use it every day. Lately, though, I think I’m sensing that it’s bored with smoothies too. I am definitely not using it to its full potential. After all, it can do ANYTHING. I’m trying to teach it to address my holiday cards, which I promise will go out this week. What? Martin Luther King Day is a holiday. Peace on Earth, good will toward men? What was I talking about?

    The nice thing for me about Vitamix food, it that you mostly don’t have to chew it. Since I got my braces, I’ve had trouble remembering to wear my elastics, so if I don’t have to take them out and put them it to eat, it’s easier (especially at work, where no amount of scrupulous hand hygiene and glove wearing can make you forget that you’ve just administered a suppository before lunch). Where was I?

    Oh, an easy recipe: Vegetable Soup I Made the Other Day and Ate for Breakfast Today

    Trim, peel, dice, and sauté in a soup pot until lovely the following veggies, reserving the trimmed, peeled bits:

    1 onion
    2 carrots
    2 stalks celery
    1 large parsnip
    2 cloves garlic

    Take the peeled bits, along with a potato and maybe some bones from the roasted chicken that the rest of the family ate, and put in a pot. Cover with water and boil the heck out of it. Normally I wouldn’t do it so crassly, but who has the time? Turn off the sauté so it doesn’t burn. Add 2 cans of stewed tomatoes (with or without the italian seasonings, I don’t care) to the sautéed veggies. When the stock seems to have taken on some color, strain it into the veggies. Simmer for a few minutes, then very carefully, in batches, blend it all up (in a Vitamix if you have one). Salt and pepper and other herbs and spices to taste. I also dumped Guthrie’s leftover coconut milk in it. All Done!

    This recipe is not in the Vitamix cookbook, by the way. Maybe next time.

  5. The Reward Game

    January 9, 2013 by Laura

    I must have this conversation 50 times a week:

    Child: I want x (nice thing not in child’s best interest).
    Me: Hmmm… well, you really need to do y (tedious task). How about when you finish y, you can have a little x?
    Child: NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! It’s too hard! I’m too tired to do y. I just want x.
    Me: C’mon, I’ll help you if you just start it. You start, and I’ll join in and finish up with you, and then you can have x.
    Child: NOOOOOOO!!! This is so stupid! I hate you. why won’t you just give me x???
    Me: Look, if you had started doing y, you would already be done by now, and you’d have x.

    And this is just what goes on in my head when I have to go running, but would rather have a beer, or some such thing. I won’t tell you how it ends, but you can imagine how it is when the boys are home. And I wonder where they get it.

    Yesterday I got all duded up in the Lycra and managed not to go running. Ever supportive, Dale asked, “Hon, did you run today?”
    “Sweetheart, I really want you to reach your goal, and I’m really concerned that you’re not going to.”
    “Go away, I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Laura, how are you going achieve this?”

    Seriously, I am insane. This is what happens when I go off the coffee cold turkey. But that’s another post.

    I did run today. Thirty minutes of run/walk in the previously described manner. Week 2, day 2 of the c25k. It is getting somewhat better. I notice that it is easier if I am not thinking, “Okay, how many more seconds??” with every running step. Occasionally I catch myself just running along for a minute (well, 4 seconds).

    Today I made a deal with myself that I could buy a new running shirt at the end of week 6: a reward. Dale, who is the super-ego to my id, says that in order to build a new habit, you should reward yourself immediately after doing the activity you want to um… habitualize (is that a word?) (And did I mention that Dale is Mr. Good Ideas Guy? He knows how to get better at everything. He reads about how to get better at things, and then he takes all that advice, and then he does the things they say, and then he gets better at things! It’s nuts!). So in order to turn running into a habit, I started eating a bit of chocolate when I finish up. Valrhona Manjari. Dale tells me he read that it builds neural pathways. So that’s why I’m doing it. Really. Eventually, says self-improved Dale, I’ll have my brain all trained up to look forward to running.

    Maybe I should eat chocolate after folding the laundry.

  6. Spare Change

    January 2, 2013 by Laura

    Today I dressed in my running clothes, but didn’t actually run until afternoon. Amos (age 5) gave me the once over, “Mom, you’ve been wearing those running pants all day.”
    “I know, I went running.”
    “Well, they’re not very good pants.”
    “They’re good for running.”
    “But they don’t look good on you… I mean, they’re real big at the top and skinny at the bottom. Pants are supposed to be kind of big at the top, and then just medium all the way down.”

    If you ever want to know if those jeans make your ass look fat, call my son.

    I got on the scale this morning (as I do every 90 minutes while awake, despite abundant warnings not to use this product more than once a week, except under medical supervision), and nothing had changed. Nothing. And when I checked out my butt in the mirror, Dale said, “I think it’s going to be a while before you see any change.” Isn’t that always the way? Looking for change on the outside? Today when I was running, I thought, “If I make it to the end of this (which is to say, exercise with no real end), and someone asks me how I did it, I’m going to have to sound like a damned Nike commercial.” I will have had to have made some internal shift, that no one will ever see. I don’t know why I find it a little depressing. Or lonely. Yep, just me, no one else can just do it for me.

    If you have always been active, you’re not going to get it. Did I mention that I was in remedial gym? I am a naturally bookish, indoorsy type with just enough interest in bugs and greenery to have become a bookish, outdoorsy type. I’ve reverted to indoorsy in the last few years. I may have lost the bookish during the same period. Now I’m pale and squishy, and I think in Facebook updates. Ew.

    Friday starts week 2 of C25K. I’ll have to run for 90 consecutive seconds. I think I’ll be okay.

  7. Not dead yet

    December 29, 2012 by Laura

    I love how since the advent of Facebook, I experience my life through the filter of “in what fascinating and witty way will I describe this particular experience of my life?” I think it makes me a better communicator (To everyone except the people I actually talk to, but that’s another topic, and it won’t make me thinner healthier. Except when I blog instead of eating, which makes me feel like an athlete and a starving writer. Love that. And yes, I do think in dependent clauses).

    I “ran” again today. Childhood friend Penny informed me, “I did that once. It gets better. I stopped at week 4 tho… ” so that was encouraging not really. I like it when people say things like, “You could do a 5k tomorrow if you had to.” No I couldn’t. First of all, I am now running 60 seconds in a row, and my lungs are trying to escape the confines of my ribcage, my esophagus is peeling, and I have cerebrospinal fluid leaking from my ears. And under what circumstances would I have to run a 5k tomorrow? That would be the day before St. Patrick’s Day 2013, when I am signed up to do a 5k, a date deliberately chosen to coincide with the end of 10 weeks of training for a 5k. How much more evidence of my out-of-shapeness do you need? Don’t answer that.

    As the day has worn on, I have become acutely aware of the ball socket joints of my hips. I think it’s run of the mill and not time to replace them yet.

    While the exercise portion of this has already started, the full-on clean living doesn’t start until 2013. There are ingredients to purchase, ingredients to use up, beers not to be shared… Dinner menus to plan… Have I mentioned my weariness of dinner?

    This time around I am really going to be leaning on you to keep me going. I think I lack the crazy evangelical Nutritarian fire that burned in 2010-11.

    Does anyone need a bridesmaid?

  8. Running on empty

    December 28, 2012 by Laura

    Let me start this post with a simple question: Who the hell brought caramel flavored chocolate covered cashews into my home? There’s a mutineer, and I will have his head.

    As promised, I started my run program today. When I started blogging 2 years ago, I could give up anything: Chocolate, cheese, bread, booze, you name it as long as I could sit in my chair and check my blog stats every 3 minutes. I would not give up my sedentary lifestyle. Now, I’m going to try to kick it up a notch. I just want you to know that in real life, I would never say, “kick it up a notch.” If you said it, I would stop listening to you, because I think it sounds stupid. But right now, I think it’s funny. Yesterday I called my cousin Eric to ask if he wanted to do this half marathon too. Somehow, when he said the longest he’d ever run was 7 miles, I told him it was “time to kick it up a notch.” I sounded possessed, I think. Now I can’t stop saying it in “possessed by a trainer” voice. “C’mon People, lets’ KICK IT UP A NOTCH.” See? Possessed, I tell you.

    Yeah, so, today I kicked it up a notch, which, as we already know, means I stood and moved forward for 30 consecutive minutes. I am following the C25K program (or “Couch to five kilometers” for those who still like words). Here’s what I like about the program: you ease into a doable exercise thing. Sixty seconds of jogging here, 90 seconds of walking there, before you know it, you’re practically Uta Pippig, but without the blood and poop (Boston Marathon 1996 reference. God I feel old). What I don’t like: getting out of bed on a non-work day before 8 am to go out and run. And by “run” I mean make funny little joggy motions with my legs while wearing new running shoes and Lycra tights. I’m out there on the badly paved, dangerously canted road, running past neighbors I don’t know, trying to look like I’m not dying, because I have no ID on me. Each little 60 or 90 second increment becomes it’s own little mind game.

    Me running with 20 seconds left: Oh my God! 20 more seconds?? Fuck, I’m going to die.

    Me running with 5 seconds left: Oh thank God! Only 5 more seconds! Fuck, I’m going to die.

    Me walking with 20 seconds left: Oh thank God! 20 more seconds! Fuck, I’m going to die.

    Me walking with 5 seconds left: Oh my God! Only 5 more seconds?? Fuck, I’m going to die.

    I had basically rolled out of bed, snarfed down my coffee, avoided my kids, and out the door I went (now I have George Thorogood in my brain). No breakfast, no water, just winging it. Also, I have a cough. And it was kind of cool from minutes 7 to 14 maybe. Wintery day, up with the early birds feeling all superior ‘n shit. At some point I had to spit, and that was just embarrassing, because I didn’t really get a clean trajectory. Not good. Finally as I was in the last eight minutes or so, I was starting to feel like I’d get through, but then the chorus of “Whipping Post” by the Allman Brothers started going through my head. Probably not the best choice for the playlist.

    There are people who don’t believe that I am as positively non-athletic as I am. That’s because I am a total poseur. I have a bunch of gear, and I really do like watching almost all sports in a general girly way, and I have slept with hung out around athletic types (I even married one eventually!). I’ve ridden my bike around Lake Tahoe and backpacked all over the place. I used to be a snowboarder too. Ten years ago, I vowed to have a daily exercise habit by the time I was 35. Did that! And I might still be a little active if it weren’t for those meddling kids. They’re ruinous. But they should have a mom who is healthy. I’m going to see if I can’t get myself into the shit hot shape I was in for 15 minutes 10 years ago. If not for myself, then for the children.

    Isn’t this totally inspirational?

  9. It’s that time of year again…

    December 27, 2012 by Laura

    when those of us with inconsistent habits (or a habit of inconsistency), few formal goals, a propensity for indulgence and sloth, and a love of dairy fat, wheat and feeling a little tipsy start feeling badly about ourselves. We next make wild promises of self-improvement in an attempt to rectify the situation or to at least appear to make an effort. Memberships are activated, athletic clothing is purchased, kitchens are purged. Menfolk weep at the sight of cured meats, cheese spreads, and nut brittles being packed off for work break rooms.

    Since my last post, I have spent most of my days trying desperately to fit back into my size 12 jeans. Size 8 (ok, 10) was just attracting too much attention from the cougar hunters. It’s embarrassing having all those 28 year old dudes staring. Dale had to punch someone, and well, I thought I’d better just eat chocolate croissants and keep the peace. It was a sacrifice, to be sure.

    But last week some delighted old bag in the cafeteria asked my 44 year old self if I was, “in a motherly way.” After I slapped her dentures across the room (in my mind), I took my pickle-enhanced lunch to a dark, lonely, corner table and took stock. No I didn’t. I just ate a bunch of chips and felt bad about my abs. I didn’t take stock at all. I kind of whimpered a little bit.

    But then I remembered MY BLOG! (Well not just then, just then my ridiculously short 30 minute lunch break ended, and I had to haul my pregnant-looking ass back up to the ICU to care for my obese patient.) I remembered how much I love writing about how healthy I occasionally am. So I’m back! Yay me!

    Okay, here’s where I’m at, as they say in places where it’s okay to talk like that: I have signed up to run a half marathon on August 25, one day after my 45th birthday. I am signed up for a 5k on St. Patrick’s Day and am looking for a 10k in there somewhere. I cleaned out the kitchen of all things non-Nutritarian (remember, that’s my deal), and I bought a bazillion dollars worth of running shoes and Lycra tights (which really means one pair of each). C25K starts Friday. I’d start today, but I have a tebbible code id by dose.

    So, you want to know what’s for dinner tonight? Teriyaki Chicken drumsticks (gotta use up some stuff), Black rice salad, and Brussels sprouts. At least the kiddos will eat the chicken.

    Year end stats: 5’4″, 156 (ish), and 0 miles. By this time next year, I’d like to be 5’7″.

    Happy New Year!



  10. Gung Hay Fat Choy!

    February 11, 2012 by Laura

    It was a little more than a lunar year ago that I embarked on my epic quest for glowing skin, bony shoulders, and perfect teeth. You’ll recall that I was successful in losing approximately 30 pounds and squeezing into a slinky beige-ish dress for my brother’s wedding, all while eating delicious, healthy meals and barely budging off a kitchen chair. I thought someone out there, perhaps my one visitor a day (Mom? Is that you? Don’t answer that, I know it’s you.) might wonder what’s going on with me now. Since I never call, I don’t email, I hardly even acknowledge you exist, I thought I’d give you all an update.

    First the good news: My quest for perfect teeth is being advanced by a nice Jewish boy named Dr. Bernstein, an orthodontist no less. Yes, I got braces. Again. I was hoping that with all the restrictions on what can and can not pass through my trellised incisors, I would have an advantage on the healthy eating front. Nope. Not true. I’ll have two fistfuls of popcorn down before mumbling, “Oops, not s’posed to eat that.” Did you know that you can also suck on a dark chocolate covered sea salted caramel? You can. You don’t have to chew them. So 18 months and a year’s worth of private school tuition from now, I should have teeth straight enough to indulge in professional whitening. I probably could have bought myself another MGB in decent condition for the same amount of money, and I now I’m feeling a little wistful about this decision. A vintage sports car is a way hipper statement of midlife crisis than caged teeth. Ask anyone.

    As for bony shoulders and glowing skin, here’s the really weird thing that happened: I started eating bread, cheese, sweets, and drinking a lot of beer and wine and recently bourbon (thanks a lot), and I gained like 8 pounds. Ok, maybe 10 pounds? Isn’t that so freaky? And those super cute skinny jeans I bought… They’re like, totally uncomfortable now. At least, I think they are, but I haven’t tried to squeeze my bagel-eating ass into them for about a month. Just to clarify, my ass does not eat bagels. My ass is big because of my bagel eating mouth. Is that better? In fact, my ass is now so big, it has become my muse. More than one friend has heard me sing my “Fat Ass Blues.” It’s an instant classic.

    But all hope is not lost.  This week I decided to get back into good clean living next week. There is no time like soon, I say. I am signed up to do a 3 week purification/detox regimen with Tone Fitness, a local yoga studio. I did this a few years ago and felt great. The basics of it are: you buy a whole bunch of fairly pricey powders and fiber supplements, take them with yummy smoothies for 21 days, eat lots of high ANDI veggies, avoid all pleasurable foods and drinks, and voila! You are clean inside and out. If you’re really good, you drop about 10 pounds. It is an especially gratifying thing to do if you are bowel obsessed, believe that gluten is sent from hell, or are a middle aged woman trying to lose weight without exercising. I am doing it in order to get back to my self-righteous healthy living.

    Seriously, here is the list of things I will not be consuming as of Monday: Wheat, all other grains except brown rice and quinoa, beans except lentils, soy, dairy, eggs, sugar, coffee, alcohol, corn, nuts, seeds, potatoes, meat, anything cured, smoked or grilled. I am to eat twice as much vegetable matter as fruit. There are these supplement pills called “colax.” I believe the name addresses their function adequately. They suggest that you wean off caffeine in order to avoid migraines. I’m sort of doing that. Not really. I think I’ll be detoxing some ibuprofen out as well.

    Some people like to prepare before a “cleanse” and I am one of them. But rather than start to give up some of these things, I decided to double down. I have given up consuming any beer or ice cream produced outside of Sonoma County. Ditto for milk, coffee, cheese, wine and bread. The way I see it, I am going to have to eat a lot of out-of-season, non-local produce in the coming weeks, and I don’t want the county’s artisan producers to suffer because of my selfish need to be healthy again. I’m throwing a last wad of cash at them before the nibbling resumes. Fortunately, one of my neighbors grows microgreens, so I’ll still be able to help keep her afloat.

    I’ll try to keep this up to date while I scrape my tongue and examine the color of the slough. Maybe I’ll have a vision! Maybe my vision will get blurry. I really want to feel like the detox is worth it, so I’m going to go eat some baby back ribs now. Bye. Cheers!