March 17th, 2011.
It's been 9 days since we all made our choice. For some it was easy, for others, it's still a struggle. But we've all made our bed, and now we're lying in it.
There are rumors flying about why…rumors that maybe this happened last year, too. But with everyone's attention span reduced by Twitter and inane status updates, no one has a truly clear recollection of what happened before last week.
The blurred memories, the shattered lives, it all adds up to one thing:
Do we continue on our path of sacrifice? Or do we cave, and let the hunger and thirst win out, forever weakening our spirit?
In the nine days since yours truly gave up soda, I've managed to stave off bouts of murderous rage while craving that bubbly feeling you get when the carbonation hits the back of your throat. You know, that tickly, life-altering delicious tingle that lets you know you're truly alive. Without that, I've been reduced to sagging onto the floor, desperately trying not to tackle poor bystanders with a Coca-Cola, Pepsi, Squirt, or even, God-forbid, a Tab. My motor-skills are reduced to the point where I walk like that weird ghost-chick in The Grudge. Everything I eat seems to turn to ash in my mouth.