Day Three

The detox? So far, so okay. I've been drinking a herbal drink that's meant to be a caffeine replacement. Its called dandelion root herbal tea or something. I don't know, it resembles coffee once you add soy milk to it and it tastes reasonably okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay . . . but it's not coffee.

But I'm okay . . .
I am. I'm fine.

Except I'm constantly tired at the moment which I am blaming on the lack of caffeine and the newly discovered fact that like most humans, I do require more than five hours of sleep a night. I am NO Winston Churchill - who existed on four hours a night. The big showoff. I don't know that I could run a country and make all those awesomely stirring speeches and defend freedom on four hours a night. Although he also used to take an hour nap every afternoon. That? Would be sweeeeeeeet. I could do that. I could make up a little bed below my desk like George Constanza in that one episode of Seinfeld. I loved George. I thought that Jason Alexander was the best thing in that show, Kramer was too showoff-y, Jerry couldn't act and Elaine's hair was too high. My dad says I remind him of Elaine. I also randomly push people and have been known to dance like a kook. I like that word. Kook. Say it out loud with me . . . kooooooook. It clicks in your mouth. My mouth is a little dry, I need some water . . .

I'm a little punch drunk right now.
Am . . . am I . . . babbling??

*breathe breathe*

THERE IS CAKE IN MY OFFICE. CHOCOLATE CAKE.

I have had THREE people ask me if I want some. I am thinking of getting a sign, or a t-shirt that says "I am currently DETOXING, please do not feed me".

I gave up coffee today . . .

. . . for the next ten days while I'm doing a Blackmores 10 Day Detox.

Don't fuck with me, I will get medieval on your ass. The slightest provocation will inspire yelling, screaming, the reckless pointing of fingers, tanties of a nuclear nature and spazz attacks the like of which have not been seen since Tonya Harding's iceskate laces came undone during the winter Olympics. (And the word 'fuck' may appear a teeny little bit more in my posts over the next ten days as I have given up coffee.)

Coffee.
Given up.
Nooooo coffee.
Nada caffeine.
Less latte, heaps herbal.
Cappuccino? No-a-thank-you.
Espresso shot? Not.
No Nescafe, no International Roast (although really, who would miss International Roast, right?) no decaffė, nuttin'.

Oh, and it hasn't even opened yet and I am already officially OVER Mission Impossible III.
OVER.
So fuck off Tom Cruise.

AND the Da Vinci Code. Yes, you can fuck off as well, Tom Hanks. And take your serial killer hair with you.

Bah.