Day 5 – staying alive


I was going to make some sort of frightfully clever association between the fact that I have successfully survived FIVE days of the Daniel diet, and the Bee Gees song “Staying Alive“. So I pulled up a YouTube video with the lyrics and dang, no, they are way too depressing. “I’m going nowhere, somebody help me” – blow that.

For starters, I refuse to admit that I really miss the Bee Gees. There has to be a limit to self-revelation, even on WordPress.

Secondly, yesterday I went with Himself to meet friends at a coffee shop, and not only did I not succumb to coffee (which I usually spell c-a-r-a-m-e-l  f-l-a-n  l-a-t-t-e  y-e-s  o-f  c-o-u-r-s-e  I  w-a-n-t  w-h-i-p  w-i-t-h  t-h-a-t  a-n-d  a  d-o-u-b-l-e  c-h-o-c-o-l-a-t-e  c-h-i-p  c-o-o-k-i-e because, you know, just plain coffee – yuck, never as good as it smells) …

Caramel flan latte

Yeah, this one

… As I was saying, not only did I not succumb, I didn’t even want to succumb. I had the smarts to make Himself go fetch his own (sweet and creamy and completely unappealing – yes, dammit, it was!) drink, and I drank water and concentrated on the conversation and I scintillated.

So I rock. None of that going nowhere bullshit happening here.

And, furthermore, I am feeling amazing. I sleep like the dead, and wake feeling awake. My skin is saying “Aahhh, thank you” for all the water I’m pouring inside of it, and various body parts continue to ache and twinge less or not at all. My jeans are becoming ever so slightly baggy – which is considerable progress, in view of the fact that the last time I wore them, about three weeks ago, I was squeezed into them like ground-up pig meat in a sausage skin.

Like this, but less appetizing.  (Dollar Photo Club)

Like this, but less appetizing.
(Dollar Photo Club)

Even my farts smell like flowers. What more could anyone ask?

Your turn… What changes have you made to your lifestyle recently? Are they working for you? What’s your favorite coffee-shop indulgence?


About Belladonna Took

Into my second half-century and still trying to figure out what to be when I grow up. Born South African, naturalized American, at constant risk of losing my balance and landing ass-first in the Atlantic. A wife, a mom, a daughter and sister, kind of a grandma. Until recently a full-time dog rescuer, now more concerned with rescuing myself. User of dog hair as accessory, decor and garnish. Technical writer, strategic thinker, occasional entrepreneur. Voiceless poet and storyteller. Born again Christ-follower and former missionary schoolteacher chewing on some uncomfortable questions. Ignorer of rules, challenger of assumptions, believer in miracles. Skeptical libertarian, equal opportunity despiser of politicians and assholes. Gonnabe gardener, wannabe beekeeper, Monsanto-hating tree-hugger. Morbidly obese chocaholic, with a horse I don't ride because I might break him, and if not he would probably break me.

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