The wreckage.
  • ANNA MINARD
  • The wreckage.
This morning, when I walked in to work carrying a bottle of what looked like the Jolly Green Giant's diarrhea sample—and feeling pretty okay about it—Cienna took one guilty look at me and said, "Um... I owe you a hamburger." WHAT THE FUCK? As she told you all already, she has fallen off the juice-fast wagon in less than one goddamn day.

I am still going strong! Yesterday was okay. By the time I got home, I was kind of done with juice. But I had one left, and so I drank it, and it was weird (kale + celery + parsely + dandelion + ginger + lime). It tasted like, oh, I don't know, if your front lawn came to life and you gave it a BJ, and then you found out it had grass STIs. You know how if you eat tons of celery, it'll sort of start burning your mouth? My mouth felt like that for an hour.

When I woke up, I was hungry. I had a juice. It was orange + almond + alfalfa. It tasted like a watered-down Creamsicle that came from a farm. I was still hungry. Everyone keeps asking me how I feel, but the answer is just hungry and ennui-ridden. Yesterday, I got really sad and emotional about what is the point of life, anyway? I'm pretty sure it was juice-related.

Now I am two juices into the day, and I have two juices to go. I'm so hungry I want to drink both of them immediately, but I have to ration, because holy shit, that is all I have left to "eat" for the rest of the day. I miss chewing, and I miss coffee.

I'm going to start eating on Friday night, and I can't wait. I also can't wait to have the alcohol tolerance of a toddler. It's gonna be great!