OK, I finally figured out how to break my Diet Coke habit. Say hello to my not-so-little friend:
For the last week or so I've been filling this bad boy, all 64 oz of him, up to the brim at the 7-Eleven... until today. Today I quit. Yeah, just like that.
The habit started when my husband was diagnosed with malignant (metastatic) melanoma, just about 11 months ago. The ritual carried me through the three months of his decline, his death, and the utter WTF-osity of the eight months that followed. And now it's officially over.
Here's the scoop: A couple of days ago I started feeling queasy, and it never quite went away. Last night I got this really weird metallic taste in my mouth, and no, it's not my braces. Somehow I just knew it was from the DC.
I was distressed. I didn't WANT to stop my habit. I'm not ready! But apparently my body is. I went to bed queasy and woke up queasy with that weird taste, like I was sucking on a metal washer. This morning even the thought of DC made me swallow real hard. Twice.
On my way into work I stopped at the drive-thru. Medium unsweetened tea, please. Could I live with that? I took a sip, and apparently I can.
I'm a little disappointed that it's not June 20th, approx. the anniversary of the diagnosis that started it all, but I'll just have to get over that.
Still got nothing against DC and I will enjoy it again, on occasion. But the required daily ritual dosing of myself with whatever-the-hell-that-shit-is-made-of is so over.
The body has spoken.