But I suspect that it’s having the same effect.
I’ve started a cleanse (with my naturopath’s approval). A mild cleanse, I’ve been told. A kind and gentle sloughing stripping acid bath power washing sand blasting detoxification of the entire body. It involves two weeks of varying amounts of milk thistle, fibre and, uh… laxatives.
I’m reserving final judgement, since I’m only on day one and a half, but this looks like it has the potential to not be fun. I know, it’s not supposed to be fun, what with nearly thirty-fi many years’ worth of accumulated crap (oops) toxins in my system, but still. Despite almost agreeably condemning myself to weekly video judgements calls with my parents and re-opening my doors to blood and marriage related house guests, I’m not really a masochist.
(I do appear, however, to have an extreme fondness for the strike out button today… my bad. I’ll try and stop now.)
So, by drinking gallons of water and stocking up on bran cereal (because fibre is our friend, and the cleanse has only just enough for the recommended course), I’m hoping to get through this without much obvious struggle. I am resigned to private struggle. Public struggle, we’ll try to avoid.
Kindly note that Mr.Q has not started his cleanse yet. He’s reserving far more than his final judgement and is waiting to see how much fun I have before deciding what to do with his kit. But, I tell you, he’s missing out. In two weeks, I will be the epitome of toxin-free*. I will be cleansed – and none of this figuratively or metaphorically crap mumbo-jumbo – as my liver, and so the rest of my body, will be squeaky clean.
Just in time to go have a few invigorating, adult oriented beverages at a concert!
*except caffeine. still on the one-cup-a-day wagon.