When life turns to lemonade...

I am now 22 years old. A week into this new adventure, may I add. I'm sure we've all heard that saying about when life gives you lemons, then make lemonade. Something like that? Lemons --> lemonade. Simple. I've certainly had my share of lemons in life and looking back, I think I've made my own share of homemade lemonade. Not good lemonade. But good enough. I mean...I'm here. Alive.

As I leave behind my undergraduate years, I've decided to take one extra plunge. Why not take lemons and make lemonade? Literally. And drink it. 10 glasses a day. Nothing else. Just...lemonade. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. I've taken on the master cleanse! Also known as "detoxification." I've always been one for spiritual detox, but now I'm undergoing a physiological detox! Well, I think only my intestines and colon will be fully aware of the effects but that's a different blog post.

So here I am. 12 hours into the master cleanse. And I'm miserable. Absolutely miserable. I suppose detoxing isn't supposed to be a pleasant experience, but why on earth did I think that denying myself the pleasures of solid food would be a worthwhile experience? First, I have to clarify and say that this isn't any old Country Time. It's a homespun concoction including fresh lemon juice (I've opted for the bottled lemon juice because I'm too lazy to squeeze), organic grade b maple syrup, water, and a dash of cayenne pepper. Not to mention a quart of water mixed with non-iodized sea salt every morning for--as the website purports--"enhanced bowel movement." All the cues to this endeavor were red flags telling me to stay away and enjoy a toxic lifestyle. Nevermind that my friend quit after 3 days and a subsequent nose-bleed, nevermind the no-food rule, nevermind the CAYENNE PEPPER, which may I add tastes horrendous. I've embarked on a new stage of my life and I'm determined to follow this thing through...Friday. Maybe.

Not only does the lemonade taste like the bastard child of bad lemons and a cajun entree, but the first day has been excruciating. I certainly didn't receive the memo, but it must have been doughnuts day at the dialysis clinic today. There were doughnuts pouring out of every orifice of that bleach-scented clinic. Doughnuts were offered to me by the patients, the other secretaries, the head nurse...there were even some mysterious doughnuts just lying in a chair in the break room. I know the sensual experience of eating original glazed doughnuts inside and out. Thank the Lord these weren't Krispy Kremes because I may have had to gnaw on my hand all day long. But original glazed doughnuts...I know their sticky touch to the fingers, their sugary smell, the feel of that first bite all the way to that doughy after-taste that can only be resolved with a cold glass of milk. I grew so anxious throughout the day that by the time I'd left at 3 pm, I just had to touch one doughnut with my finger. I hope nobody ate that.

Four more days. Four more days to make these damned lemons I've picked for myself and somehow make lemonade that'll go down and enhance bowel movement. Because that's what you do in life, right? Now if I could only get as much publicity for my detox as Kate Moss. What sweet lemonade that would be...