And on the Sixth Day...It's day six, and my willpower has been tested. I've had every excuse to throw good reason to the wayside and leave the diet in the past, but have stayed the course. When I left for work this morning, I had the strong suspicion that I was forgetting something. I'm sure everyone is familiar with the sensation: you just KNOW that something's askew, but you can't put your finger on it, so you carry on about your business with a little grey cloud hanging above your head. It wasn't until half an hour later, almost immediately upon my arrival to the office, that I remembered what it was. My two tall containers of lemonade were still in the fridge.
It was a busy morning, so the time until lunch cruised past in the bat of an eye, and I took the opportunity to make a mad northern dash in search of my abandoned beverages. My commute is an easy half an hour, potentially much more during the lunch rush, so I wasn't especially looking forward to it, but I didn't like the thought of lasting a full day without anything to calm my gut. It's been rumbling enough throughout the day as it is, so I can't even imagine the noises it would begin to make with this kind of a valid excuse. I made the drive in thirty minutes, almost on the dot, through some fine driving and a few lucky breaks with my lane choices, when I was revisited by the same feeling that had bothered me earlier that morning. I'd left my house keys in my bag, back at the office. Glorious. Fortunately enough, the condo association's office hadn't closed yet (I live with a building full of fuddy-duddies who are always around to complain, ride the elevator to the top floor, wander the halls and stand guard in the office) and they were kind enough to buzz me in, then allow me into my unit. I made it back to the office around one thirty, opened up the side drawer of my desk, and saw two full cans of Pringle's potato chips, left over from a Publix run a few days before I began the diet. I love Pringle's.
I passed the test. My two cans of fried, salted potato slices are still intact. As they will remain until the moment I tear into them eight days from now, victorious and proud of the conclusion of this fast.
Otherwise, it's been a fairly status quo kind of day. My body remains unchanged, my taste for the three drinks in question haven't undergone any kind of a shift (I almost gagged upon my last sip of tea this morning) and my mind is determined. I'm still patiently waiting for more of the positive effects of the fast to kick in, and I'm still anxiously counting the minutes until I can put the whole experience behind me. The salt water fired through me like a faucet last night, so I'm fairly confident that my tubes are clean, and I've lost a couple more pounds. My head is clear, (which probably has as much to do with my time away from the Volcano as it does the change in diet) my stomach is empty and my tongue is partially fuzzy. I've read that it's not uncommon for your tongue to gather a kind of faint fuzzy texture during the fast, and that when it returns to its normal pink hue, it's an indication that your system is completely flushed. A few days ago it was almost completely coated, and today there are patches of pink showing through. Maybe that means I'm on the verge of good things?