I haven't had a Diet Coke in a couple of weeks. I wish I could say that I had an epiphany about the chemicals I was putting in my body and decided to drink only local organic mineral water collected in rainbarrels by Trappist monks, but really what happened is that we just ran out of Diet Coke and I never got around to buying any more.
And I don't miss it, really, which is funny because I thought I would. I never really intended to give it up—I like my vices, thank you very much, and as long as I'm not shooting up heroin on my couch every night, I think we can forgive a little aspartame—so there wasn't really a whole lot of hand-wringing and dramatic proclaiming about the decision. I just kind of stopped. And Sean kind of stopped too.
I'm not telling you this to be sanctimonious—I'm currently sitting here working my way through an enormous pile of French candy my friend Caroline brought me from Paris, so it seems I've replaced fake sugar with actual sugar—but more because I'm just kind of surprised by what a big deal it wasn't. I mean, Sean and I weren't addicts or anything—we'd fallen into the habit of having a Diet Coke with dinner each night, but it's not like we were the Keith Richards and Mick Jagger of Diet Coke consumption, you know?—so maybe that's why going cold turkey didn't hurt as much as I'd anticipated it would, but still. I was expecting something, I guess. Tremors, maybe? Cravings? Vivid dreams about holding up a gas station and drinking their entire Diet Coke supply in one go, then waking up sweatily in my bed, my hands clutching wildly at imaginary bottles?
But nope. Nothing. I just drank Diet Coke and then I stopped drinking Diet Coke. And it got me thinking: as a chronic I-had-a-donut-well-there-goes-the-whole-day-ICE-CREAM-FOR-EVERYONE!-er, what if I could just take this relaxed eh, I've run out, guess I'll quit approach with other things in my life—French candy, say—instead of stomping around making a huge fanfare about giving up illicit pleasures only to find myself desperately gorging on them three days later?
(Just to be clear, the illicit pleasures we're talking about here are things like Caramellos and cheese, not, like, blow and hookers or anything. I mean, I didn't think I had to clarify, but you can never be sure. To be honest, I'm actually not even 100% sure which drug blow is. Make a mental note to yourself right now never to watch a Quentin Tarantino movie with me, because you won't be able to hear the dialog over the keyboard clatter of me googling slang terms for class A drugs so I can follow along.)
(Okay, I looked it up. Cocaine.)
Anyway, now that I've ditched Diet Coke—for the moment, anyway; I haven't really wanted one since I quit, but who's to say the moment won't strike, and denying myself just makes me want fourteen an hour later—I've been wondering if I might be able to wean myself off Splenda too. Again, it's not like I'm sitting at home ripping open little packets of Splenda and pouring them into my mouth one after the other or anything, but I can't drink a cup of tea or coffee without one. Actually, I bet I could totally drink a cup of tea or coffee without one, but I haven't really tried. Has anyone stopped drinking Splenda before? Did you go back to straight sugar, or did you try something like agave nectar or Truvia or the crushed eyelashes of angels? And hey, did this blog title guarantee a Def Leppard singalong in your brain for the next two days or what? Yeah, sorry about that. I'm there right now too, if it helps.